Mai Hime: Chimera
by WouldBeSenpai
Summary: Two years after the horrific events of the Carnival, Natsuki and Shizuru are trying to live a normal life as a couple. However, the past has a way of hunting them down, in more ways than one.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Mai-Hime is the property of Sunrise and Bandai. However, I think that all of the fans of the show will agree with me when I say that nobody has more of a right to those wonderful girls, with magical powers, than the loyal viewers.

Warning: This story contains graphic violence, sex and coarse language. If you are uncomfortable with any of these, please refrain from reading.

Prologue

**Undisclosed location: 8 months after the events of the Carnival**

To refer to it as water would've been to refer to it inaccurately at best. It was nurturing, as water is to all living things, but it was not water. A more appropriate term for the viscous liquid in which she was submerged would've been 'plasma,' but not even that word was thoroughly sufficient. It reminded her of shampoo—the overly-priced apple scented variety that was often sold in stores that specialized in the retail of high-quality toiletries—except it was far less dense and did not smell of apples. She was not sure how she even knew the scent of apples. She had never seen an apple, nor tasted anything that contained apples. Yet, she knew the smell, as though she had been born knowing it. That was true of many things. Many facets of her knowledge. She understood things, recollected things; however, these things were not part of her experience. They were simply a part of her, engrained into the raw material of her brain like wood carvings done by an unknown artist.

But then… sometimes, they would appear. Not all at once, only one at a time, but they would appear. Images, flashes, that pulsed through her mind: strobe lights of memory. These pictures were unlike her knowledge, in that the knowledge merely existed without forcing itself upon her psyche, while the images begged to be acknowledged. The flashes were accompanied by pain sometimes, as though she was not simply living another's life vicariously, but was literally living it. And the pain was not only physical. In fact, many times the physical pain of the memories did not even compare with the emotional disturbance she felt. Many times she screamed, producing numerous, lethargic bubbles that floated lazily in her gelatinous prison. More often than not, her captors fed her sedatives via an IV in left arm, thereby gracing her with the comfort of sleep during these episodes. Albeit one that left her feeling listless and weary afterwards.

Initially, she had not thought of the men and women dressed in starched, white lab coats as her captors. No, they had simply been her strange caretakers. But there was something about them, _something in her flashes_, that made her uneasy. She did not belong here. That thought had intruded upon the inner calm of her mind again and again. Ever since the incident. Ever since she had been confined to the glass pool of lime-hued liquid for—as Dr. Mason had phrased it— "an indefinite period of time," she had come to the conclusion that she needed to escape. She had no idea, however, that the opportunity would soon present itself.

She had been in a restless slumber when the side of the facility ruptured, leaving several dead and several more in need of medical care. The lab technicians remained unaware of the intrusion for a brief interval, being that the area in which they worked (and in which she was held), was underground and fairly soundproof due to the layers of concrete that separated it from the upper levels. Therefore, the first thing that she saw upon being jolted from a rather vivid dream by something ramming into the front of her tank, was an intricate swirl of red that coursed down the usually-spotless glass. She stared at the red, nearly transfixed by it, while slowly…tentatively…reaching out her hand to trace the pattern with her index finger. However, just as her digit grazed the transparent surface, a hairline fracture formed in the tank. The fracture was only a few inches in length, barely a fracture at all really. After a minute, though, the fracture began to lengthen, slowly at first, but gradually gaining in speed until it raced down the glass. Breaking off into additional fractures as it continued. She gazed at it in wide-eyed wonder until, suddenly, the entire front of the tank collapsed under the extreme pressure of the liquid within and she found herself lying on the floor of the lab in a naked heap. Limbs quivering, she rose onto her hands and knees; the glass beneath her, biting into her bare flesh. Her lungs screamed at her for oxygen, and she struggled with the mask that was fitted over her mouth and nose that typically provided her with air while simultaneously filtering her exhalations into the green plasma of the now-shattered pool. She ripped the plastic from her face, and clawed at the tube attached to it that ran into her mouth and down her throat. Once the tube was pulled free, she gagged wetly, her sides heaving. She gulped air in large, goldfish-out-of-water breaths while scanning the room. Something pulsed in her mind, making her tense her muscles and narrow her eyes in anticipation.

"Help… me…" A ragged voice rasped from somewhere in her vicinity. That's when she caught sight of the man. Or, at least, what once had been a man. His legs had been mutilated beyond repair and one of his arms was twisted beneath him in an unnatural fashion. The once-pristine lab coat that he wore was soaked in blood that was now beginning to dry into a sickly shade of rust. With his good arm, he beckoned to her. She rose cautiously, her body almost fully recovered from its previous fall. After ripping the IV from her arm, as well as the electrodes from her head and chest, she gingerly picked her way through the glass shards from her tank to kneel at the wounded man's side. Once she was beside him, he motioned for her to move closer to his face. She hesitated for a moment, but knowing that the he was most-likely hemorrhaging internally judging from the amount of blood that was slowly seeping from his mouth, she did not perceive him as a possible threat and she lowered her head to catch his next throaty whisper: "They are here for you."

Her eyes widened at his statement, just as a bullet zoomed within six inches of head and buried itself in the man's brain. Flicking her gaze in the direction from which the shot was fired, she saw a man dressed in black fatigues grinning at her appreciatively from the steel footpath that surrounded the upper portion of the lab. His dress suggested some kind of military Special Forces but his bearing suggested otherwise. Even though he was armed, she made no move to retreat, she simply stood up and cocked her head at him in interest.

"Well, aren't you a cutie. You know, they said you were something, but I never imagined I'd be allowed such a… good look at you," the shooter mused. She absently noted, from the man's comment, that she would need to find clothing soon. Other than this thought, though, she regarded his statement with indifference.

"Stop playing with her, and finish setting the charges so we can get the hell out of here," growled a husky voice from the doorway. She turned towards the voice to witness a stockier man enter the room, followed by ten or fifteen others, all dressed in black fatigues identical to those of the shooter.

"What, I can't fucking talk to her?"

"Can't you see she doesn't understand you? She's probably a goddamn doll just like all the others," the stockier man retorted.

"An anatomically correct one," the shooter replied, while eyeing her body hungrily. Again, she dismissed the comment, paying close attention to the stockier man who was apparently in charge and who was casually advancing on her as though she was merely a piece of furniture.

"Don't even think about it Hart, if something happens to her, we don't get paid. So if you fuck her, it fucks us. And if we get fucked, I will personally see to it that you never get it up again. Get it?"

"Yeah, whatev-" the shooter's response was effectually cut off when the stockier man, having reached her, had his throat severed by is own bowie knife and consequently dropped to the floor where he bled out at her feet. The shooter murmured words of disbelief as he glared down at the scene before him in shocked confusion. What the hell just happened? His thoughts were interrupted, though, by round after round of artillery that succeeded in cutting him in half at the waist. She turned toward the remaining men; the stockier man's AK-47 **(1)** gripped loosely in her left hand, and dispatched them before they could even fully register the death of their comrades. Once this task was completed, she picked one 'soldier' who appeared to have sustained the least blood loss during his demise and stole his fatigues.

After dressing, she made her way to the steel walkway suspended above the lab and glanced over the charges that the shooter had been setting. Two packs of C4 **(2)** were haphazardly strapped to the concrete pillars that supported the roof, and the fuses had been rigged to a timer that had yet to be set. She picked up the timer and, after studying its design for a few seconds, set the explosives to go off in approximately thirty minutes. After completing her work, she nodded in satisfaction and made her way to a small office that was accessible from the lab. The door was normally secured by means of a key code, however, she correctly surmised that the abrupt invasion of the lab had prevented anyone from locking it. Upon entering the office, she approached a large, grey filing cabinet and fingered the lock in amusement before driving a swift kick at the drawer. The lock gave way, and the cabinet drawer was easily pulled open. She licked her finger and picked over the files until a particular tab caught her eye: "HIME PROJECT: CHIMERA." She smiled wanly, almost grimacing, before tucking the file under her arm and swiftly making her way out of the lab.

**25 minutes later**

From her seat in the snow tractor **(3)**, she smiled her wan smile yet again as she watched the facility in which she had spent her entire life implode in on itself in a spectacular display of fire and smoke just a few hundred feet away. From the parka that she had commandeered from the snow tractor's previous driver, she withdrew the manila folder and glanced over its contents for the second time. As she flipped through the file in an almost absent-minded trance, her hand momentarily hovered over a photograph paper clipped to one of the pages. Her hand then came to rest on the photo and her fingers tingled as she traced the features of the two women in the picture. Upon touching the image, her face contorted into a silent mask of agony as her previous dream flashed before her mind's eye. The dream in which she saw raven black. The dream in which she saw eyes like her own. The dream in which she died.

As the horrifying images faded, her expression slowly softened, but her crimson eyes took on a distinctly determined glow. She removed the picture from the file and placed it in the breast pocket of the bloody fatigues that she wore, as she mouthed the words "I will find you" to the Arctic sunset.

Author's notes:

**(1)**- An AK-47, for those readers who are not familiar with guns, is an automatic machine gun that fires multiple rounds.

**(2)**- C4 is a type of high-power explosive.

**(3)**- A snow tractor is a lot like a regular tractor, only with tank-like treads that can be used for, as my readers may have guessed, traversing over snowy terrain.

Additional comments:

I have never written fanfiction before, but I am an enormous fan of this series, and this pairing (ShizNat). I would really appreciate any advice or reviews that people would be willing to give me. Ookini.


	2. Chapter 1: Chesire Cat Grin

Disclaimer: Mai-Hime is the property of Sunrise and Bandai.

Warning: This story contains graphic violence, sex and coarse language. If you are uncomfortable with any of these, please refrain from reading.

Chapter 1: Cheshire-Cat Grin

**Ciudad Valles, Mexico: 10 months after the events of the Carnival **

Gabriela rarely visited the taberna **(1)** after her show, but she felt differently tonight. Tonight she desired the heady warmth of alcohol, and the comforting presence of strangers who knew nothing of her fame. The Puesta De Sol **(2) **was packed with locals and travelers alike, which made it deliciously easy for Gabriela to melt into the crowd and discard her identity. She ordered a double-shot of the most expensive tequila in the house and winked at the ruddy bartender, who regarded the voluptuous curves of her body with poorly-concealed lust. Perhaps she would take him up on his unspoken offer if she was feeling especially daring later on in the evening.

Most of the customers at the Puestra De Sol were men, so it was no wonder that the obscured figure in the shadowed booth at the corner of the taberna caught her eye. The figure regarded no one, yet everyone, and seemed to carry an air of cool defiance in her every gesture. Gabriela did her best to catch a glimpse of the figure's face without seeming too obvious, but the allusive visage remained shielded beneath the brim of an off-white fedora. Unable to see the mysterious woman's face, Gabriela contented herself with taking in the rest of her rather eye-catching appearance. The dashing female was clad in a fitted suit that matched her fedora in color, and a button-up dress shirt made of semi-transparent, beige cloth. From the way that her clothing hugged her body, Gabriela could tell that the woman was lithe and fit. The suit also told Gabriela that the stranger was most-likely foreign, as it is considered odd in Mexico for a female to dress in something so definitively masculine. However, despite the non-traditional style of dress sported by the woman, she retained a certain muted femininity that was incredibly alluring.

Gabriela's inspection of the intriguing female was brought to an abrupt halt when a gentleman joined the woman at her table, effectively blocking Gabriela from making any more observations. She blinked several times, as though she had just been brought out of a trance, and realized that she desperately had to use the restroom. Gabriela rose from her seat at the bar, and staggered toward the back of the taberna; during the course of her study of the mysterious woman, she had consumed at least four drinks. As a result, she was slightly intoxicated, which probably led to her less-than-brilliant plan to relieve her aching bladder in the alley rather than wait for the currently-occupied restroom to become free. Upon reaching the alley, Gabriela squatted while silently cursing the maker of overly-luxurious flamenco dresses **(3)**. Just as she was about to re-enter the taberna, though, a calloused hand was laid roughly on her shoulder and she was immediately spun around to face the stench of musky cologne, sweat and cheap liquor. Before she could even begin to react, the rough hands shoved her up against the outer wall of the taberna and began fumbling with the folds of her dress in fevered eagerness.

"Pl-please señor, I have money, please, I will give you however much you ask, just let me go," Gabriela pleaded, her voice trembling with the fear that had entirely replaced her light-headed inebriation. The anonymous man, who was roughly her height, but at least 80 pounds heavier, responded by merely continuing his assault on her dress. Realizing that she was not going to receive a reply, Gabriela let out several terrified shrieks that were quickly muffled by one of the man's grimy palms. In desperation, Gabriela attempted to lash out at her assailant with her feet and nails but he effortlessly over-powered her while, at the same time, forcibly spreading her legs with his knee. Just as he was moving to unbuckle his belt, though, something collided sharply with the small of his back. The breath of Gabriela's attacker escaped from his lips in a strained whistle, as he fell to his knees.

"Pardon me, señor, but I believe the señorita asked you to 'let go,'" murmured a husky voice from somewhere in the alley. The man shakily got to his feet, and cast his eyes about in bewilderment. Where was the voice coming from? Who the hell struck him? Slowly, but without hesitation, a figure stepped from the shadows cast by the awning of the taberna and into the subdued light that filtered into the alley from the street. Gabriela inhaled sharply at the sight of the strange female from earlier.

"Fuck you, you gringa **(4)** bitch!" the man growled, flipping a blade out from inside the pocket of his denim jacket.

"Ah, I see. Well, that's regrettable," the woman replied. Gabriela couldn't help but marvel at the lack of concern evident in the female's tone and mannerisms; in fact, the woman almost sounded as though she were exasperated by her encounter with this potential rapist. Moreover, even though the woman was obviously foreign, her Spanish was nearly flawless. "I suppose I will have to take care of this then. How…(sigh) irritating."

The man did not respond to the odd female's statement, but simply lunged at her. In the split second that it took for his sluggish body to bridge the ten-foot gap between himself and the strange woman, Gabriela witnessed something truly captivating: the mysterious female smiled. Not a full-fledged smile, so much as a lop-sided grin. A grin that seemed to whisper, "I have a secret that I am about to reveal to your eyes only."

Suddenly, the woman was gone—or so she appeared for the briefest of moments—until she landed in a crouched position in the spot that the man had just vacated in his attempt to accost her. Her hand held her fedora in place, which still concealed most of her facial features. Although, now that Gabriela was able to see her from a different angle, she realized that the woman had dark-mahogany hair that was pulled back into a lose pony-tail. Once again, though, Gabriela was distracted from fully appreciating the female's attributes when the woman swept her leg out and knocked the man from his feet. However, instead of disarming him while he lay incapacitated, the woman waited for him to rise before she deftly secured his knife-wielding hand and drew him close to her.

"Perhaps this will help you 'let go,'" the woman remarked, her voice hushed. Gabriela heard a sickening crunch as the mysterious female snapped the man's wrist in one swift motion. The man screamed like an animal caught in a trap and stared at the woman's face as tears of pain streamed from his eyes. In an effort to attain some degree of mercy, he sought eye contact with his enemy. Gabriela watched as the man peered beneath the brim of the fedora, only to shrink away from the woman's gaze in apparent horror.

"Demonio **(5)**…" the man whispered, after which he began to pray rather fervently. The woman loosened her grasp on his hand, allowing him to prostrate himself before God and then flee from the alley. Shaking her head, she turned around and approached Gabriela, her face having taken on an amused expression that also held a tinge of something more ambiguous.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, her voice gruff but gentle.

"No," Gabriela mumbled, shaking herself free from the fascination-induced haze in which the odd female had placed her.

"Beautiful girls should not urinate in dark alleys," the woman stated. Gabriela felt her face flush with embarrassment and she turned away from the intense, yet slightly teasing, stare of the other female. "What is your name?"

"My name…" Gabriela regarded her rescuer with helpless reluctance, "is Solymar."

The woman lowered her head and chuckled lightly before addressing Gabriela again, "You're a poor liar. Though, I suppose I don't blame you for not wanting to give out your name to a complete stranger." Despite her words, the odd female made no effort to reassure Gabriela by offering her own name or by removing her fedora so that her appearance could be readily seen. Instead, she turned and began making her way out of the alley. Still reeling from the previous events, but unable to simply let this intriguing woman slip from her grasp, Gabriela called out to her before she could merge back into the shadows of the night. Hearing her cry, the woman turned.

"M-may I…" the words caught in Gabriela's throat. She did not fully understand her own longing, but she needed to see the woman's face. Maybe even touch it, caress it…she didn't know anymore.

"May you, what?" the woman asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"May I… see you?" Gabriela choked out. The other female paused, and even though Gabriela could not fully view her expression, she could tell that the woman was contemplating her proposal.

"Only if you let me buy you a drink."

"S-si," Gabriela consented. Upon being granted permission for the drink, the mysterious female slowly strode up to Gabriela, stopping when she was mere inches away. Gabriela had to bite her lip to keep from letting out a whimper, as the woman's scent encompassed her. She smelled of summer rain. Refreshing, yet warm.

"You may look," the woman whispered. Gabriela nodded to show that she understood, before cautiously lifting the edge of the fedora.

Red. That was the first thought that entered Gabriela's mind. Never before had she seen someone with eyes of such an unnatural shade. Red. Like blood. A shiver ran up her spine, but not from the abnormal hue of the woman's eyes. She did not know why, but this discovery only made her want to interact with the strange female all the more.

"Gabriela," she murmured. Had she just told this woman her name? Why did she do that?

"It's nice to meet you. Now, if you don't mind, how about we get that drink?" the woman inquired, completely ignoring the fact that Gabriela had just willingly revealed her name, despite her earlier refusal. Again, Gabriela could only nod.

However, before they could step back into the taberna, Gabriela found her voice: "W-who are you?"

The lop-sided grin made a brief reappearance, but this time it was tainted with something bordering on sadness, "I would tell you, if I knew."

**Fuuka, Japan: 2 years after the events of the Carnival (6)**

A lone petty officer, dressed in a shimmering suit of metallic-blue, body armor and a matching visor that resembled a full-faced biker helmet, trudged heavily across the wasteland that lay before her. She crept toward a deserted building where she proceeded to appropriate a M12 Warthog LRV **(7)**. Then, so as not to be detected, she drove the Warthog to a sheltered area behind a low-rising ridge and awaited the arrival of her nemesis. As predicted, a second petty officer emerged from behind the opposite side of the ridge, just as the first lowered herself from her vehicle. The second officer was identical to the first, with the exception of the color of her body armor, which was a shade of nearly-neon magenta instead of cobalt-blue. Once she had revealed herself, the second officer realized that the first had laid a trap for her and she hurried to ready her weapon before her crafty opponent could fire. To her dismay, the first officer was far too experienced, and the second officer was quickly dispatched without mercy.

"Major pwn! **(8)**" Natsuki yelled. Her victorious cry quickly followed by peals of triumphant laughter.

"Nani?! **(9)** Goddamnit!" Nao cried, her exasperation nearly piercing Natsuki's eardrum due to the fact that they were currently communicating via hands-free headset.

"Slightly inappropriate language for a potential nun, don't you think?" Natsuki teased, knowing full well that Nao had no intention of joining the Catholic Church, but was simply going along with her training so as not to disappoint (a.k.a. incite the wrath of) Yukariko.

"Fuck you, Kuga," Nao growled.

"You're not my type," Natsuki quipped.

"Ara," Nao replied, in an almost-flawless imitation of a certain ex-kaichou's Kyoto-ben, "Natsuki ikezu **(10)**." Natsuki blushed; all-of-a-sudden immensely relieved that Nao was safely tucked away in her dorm room, rather than beside her on the couch.

"Bite me, Yuuki."

"Now whose propositioning whom?" Nao jeered. Natsuki could practically hear the smug grin creeping its way onto Nao's face, and she rolled her eyes in response even though the younger girl had no way of seeing it. "How is she anyway?"

"Eh?!" To say that Natsuki was slightly taken aback by Nao's question was an understatement. Despite the fact that she and Nao had managed to become friends over time by focusing on their similarities rather than their differences, the younger of the two had never truly come to accept Shizuru beyond mere tolerance. Therefore, the genuine consideration that had wormed its way into Nao's question caught Natsuki off-guard.

"Jesus Kuga, that bad? What are you in the doghouse for now?"

"Shut it, Nao! Shizuru and I are just fine," Natsuki snapped, "I just thought that the question was a little unexpected, coming from you."

"N-nani?" Nao replied, "I'm not that big of an ass."

Natsuki couldn't help but chuckle good-naturedly at Nao's comment, "Yeah, I guess not. Well, thanks for asking."

"Don't go getting all sappy on me, here, Kuga. I don't swing that way."

"Oi, I don't think anyone with a bondage fetish has a right to judge me."

"B-baka!" Nao snarled, then in a slightly more subdued tone, "so, have you figured out what you are going to get her for your anniversary?" Unable to go to Mai, because of the constant presence of both Tate and Mikoto, Natsuki had sought help with this particular dilemma from her only other option: Nao. Under penalty of death that she not speak one word on the subject to Shizuru, of course.

Natsuki sighed deeply, "No. She's impossible to buy for. I mean, she already has everything that she could ever want." The truth of Natsuki's statement hung like a dead weight around her neck whenever there was a special occasion for which she needed to acquire a suitable gift for the elder woman. Shizuru was the sole heir to Fujino Industries, one of the most prominent and successful conglomerates in Kyoto. Her father had recently granted his daughter a position at Fujino Industries' Fuuka branch, even though she was only in her second year at the university. As a result, Shizuru spent the majority of her time doing some form of work, either for her father's company or for her business classes; hence the reason why Natsuki was currently spending her Sunday playing Halo 3 with Nao. On the upside, though, Shizuru's income was substantial enough to support both she and Natsuki quite comfortably. However, when Natsuki weighed being financially well-off against spending quality time with her lover, she preferred the latter.

"You could always get her a collar to put around your neck," Nao mused, "maybe a leash."

"Nao!" Natsuki raged, her eye twitching in irritation. What the hell had ever made her believe that Nao would be of any assistance in this matter? Her idea of a good present was probably a gift-wrapped pedophile.

Suddenly, a melodic voice cut through Nao's hysterical cackling like a knife through warm butter, "Ara, I see that you and Yuuki-san are having a good time without me, perhaps I should go back to the office, ne?"

"S-Shizuru!" Natsuki stammered, her expression unintentionally confirming Nao's implied description of her as Shizuru's puppy: upon catching sight of her girlfriend, her eyes had widened in excitement and her mouth had split into a goofy grin. In an effort to greet the elder woman, Natsuki jumped from her seat without taking into consideration the headset that was still attached to her game console. This oversight would prove to be Natsuki's downfall, literally. A yelp erupted from her throat as the wire from the headset snapped her backwards, causing her to perform a reverse somersault over the seat of the couch.

"Ara, ara…" Shizuru murmured in restrained delight over Natsuki's embarrassing antics as she crossed the room to attend to her 'wounded' lover.

"What the hell just happened, Kuga? Did that woman jump you already?" Nao inquired, the amusement in her voice suggesting that she actually had a fairly good idea about what had happened.

Natsuki was about to respond when Shizuru gently reached over, plucked the headset from her and spoke into the microphone, "Yuuki-san, you will have to excuse Natsuki, she has something that requires her immediate attention."

Nao was so stunned to hear Shizuru's syrupy-sweet accent, in place of Natsuki's gruffness, that all she could stutter out in reply was a strangled, "H-hai!" Once Shizuru effectively silenced Nao, she wrapped her girlfriend in a tight embrace. She had missed her Natsuki.

"Shizuru?" Natsuki mumbled, her voice somewhat muffled by Shizuru's chestnut hair, in which her face was comfortably buried.

"Mm?"

"What requires my immediate attention?"

Shizuru giggled lightly at the naivety of her lover, before drawing Natsuki into a less-than-chaste kiss. When she pulled away, the emerald green of Natsuki's eyes had hazed over, reminding the former kaichou of a forest shrouded in a dense mist. Shizuru allowed her gaze to noticeably flicker from the bedroom, and then back to the younger woman, before giving Natsuki her answer: "Me."

**Tokyo, Japan: 11 months after the events of the Carnival**

Yomoshiro Jiro **(11) **rubbed his temples with his forefingers in epic frustration as he stared at the intercom to his rather vast and lavish office. An office that he was in immediate danger of losing if he did not do something to quell this crisis, and fast. Reluctant to leave the comforting softness of his desk chair, but knowing that he would have to venture from it in order to properly greet his guest, he rose and adjusted the dark-navy jacket of his three-piece suit. Once he was satisfied with his appearance, he pressed the button to the intercom.

"You may send her in now, Mitsurugi-san," Jiro informed his secretary.

"Hai, Yomoshiro-sama," the secretary replied, just before the double-doors to Jiro's office opened to allow a woman decked out in business-casual attire to enter. As the woman approached, Jiro took in her distinctly Western features: dark-auburn hair; piercing, blue eyes and lightly-freckled skin. When she was within a safe distance, so that it didn't look as though he was too eager to speak with her, Jiro stepped forward from his desk and bowed to her politely.

"Ohaiyo gonzaimasu **(12)**, Mason-san," Jiro said, his voice betraying little of his anxiety or anticipation.

"Ohaiyo, Yomoshiro-san," Dr. Mason replied, giving him her own—albeit less graceful—bow. Jiro motioned for Mason to sit down opposite him at his desk before he went about reclaiming his own seat. After which, he pursed his lips in thought and regarded her with what he hoped was a somber, fairly-emotionless expression.

"As you know, Mason-san, the specimen was observed in Mexico less than a month ago. Do you have any idea why she would be there?"

"Now, why would you assume that I would be privy to that kind of information concerning the (slight pause, as though out of distaste for the next word) specimen's whereabouts Yomoshiro-san?"

Jiro noted the way in which Dr. Mason expertly dodged the question, while managing to turn her answer into something resembling an accusation. He smiled in amusement, and continued, "As I have clarified before, Mason-san, the organization simply thought that because the specimen was primarily under your 'care' at the facility that you would have the most insight into her thought process."

"I see," Dr. Mason stated, allowing a detached smile to grace her lovely face, as she crossed elegant legs beneath a charcoal-grey skirt. Despite her subtle insolence, Jiro could not help but find her attractive, especially considering the way in which the creamy blouse that she wore hugged her sensuous figure. Not to mention her glasses, which made her seem both sophisticated and devious at the same time. "Well, Yomoshiro-san, I am sorry to disappoint you, but-"

"I hope you are aware," Jiro interjected, cutting her off in mid-sentence, "that the specimen represents a significant investment for First District. A rather irreplaceable investment."

"I am," Dr. Mason responded, seemingly unfazed by Jiro's abrupt reminder.

"Then you are also aware that the organization has no use for you if you persist in remaining…uncooperative in resolving this matter."

"I don't appreciate the implication that-"

"Do not toy with me Mason-san. I do not wish to report your behavior to my superiors. I may be forgiving, but I assure you, _they_ are not," Jiro added, his voice retaining its eerie monotone, even in the lancing presence of his concealed threat.

Dr. Mason paused, suddenly appearing unsure of herself (if only for the briefest of moments) before-once again-finding her composure, "She may have an informant."

Jiro raised an eyebrow, as he laced his fingers together over the polished surface of his desk, "An informant?"

"Yes."

"And how might she have acquired such a thing?"

"She can be… very persuasive."

"Well, considering her origins, it is not surprising. However, it seems strange, don't you think, for her to have access to such costly associates?"

"Yes, her financial situation is of great interest to me as well."

"Ah, then am I to assume that you know nothing regarding her continuous source of funds?" Jiro inquired deliberately.

Again, Dr. Mason's mouth tugged upward into a small smile, "No, that would not be entirely accurate."

"Then, please Mason-san, enlighten me."

"It is possible that she is using funds pirated from my previous employer."

"Mhmm," Jiro mumbled in admiration, "she is certainly skilled."

"That she is," Dr. Mason nodded in concurrence.

Jiro leaned his chin onto his entwined hands, which he had raised from the desk and supported with his elbows, "You are dismissed for now." He closed his eyes after this statement, as though her were attempting to eliminate her entirely by removing her from his sight. She rose and bowed, though he could not see it, and strode toward the double-doors. "Oh, just one more thing Mason-san," Jiro called, halting the doctor in mid-stride, "do you think that she is pursuing her roots?"

"If you asking me whether or not she will contact the donors," Dr. Mason replied, not turning to meet his renewed gaze, "then I must say, no. I do not."

Jiro's lips twitched, as though he were on the verge of saying something. After a few seconds of silence, however, he simply let out a defeated sigh, "Very good, sayonara Mason-san." Once the doctor had left the room, Jiro picked up the receiver to his office phone and dialed a number with which he was intimately familiar.

After several dial tones, a distorted voice came on the line, "Oi."

"A pleasure as always Kurogawa-san," Jiro replied, "I need you to send an agent to Fuuka as soon as possible; the specimen may be on her way."

Author's notes:

**(1)**- Taberna is Spanish for 'bar.'

**(2)**- Puesta De Sol is Spanish for 'sunset,' but is also the name of the bar.

**(3)**- Flamenco is a type of Spanish dance in which the dresses are usually very flamboyant and many-layered.

**(4)**- Gringo/a is derogatory term for someone who is from the United States.

**(5)**- Demonio is Spanish for 'demon.'

**(6)- **This time period (2 years after the events of the Carnival) is 'present day' in the universe of this fic.

**(7)**- A M12 Warthog LRV is a dune-buggy type vehicle that is indigenous to the Halo series of video games.

**(8)**- Pwn, for all of the non-gamers out there, is a combination of the words 'powerfully' and 'own.' It is typically used by an individual who has just defeated someone in game play.

**(9)**- Nani is Japanese for 'what.'

**(10)**- Natsuki ikezu roughly translates, from Japanese to English, as 'Natsuki is a meanie.' Nao is mocking Shizuru here, as Shizuru refers to Natsuki as an ikezu whenever she teases her.

**(11)**- Jiro is actually the character's first name, but I have chosen to write his full name in the Japanese style with his last name coming before his first name.

**(12)**- Ohayou gozaimasu is a very formal Japanese way of saying 'Good morning.'

Additional comments:

As you may have noticed, some of the Spanish and Japanese terms in this chapter are not included in my Author's notes. The reason for this is because I assume that most of my readers are familiar with these terms already. However, if I am mistaken, please let me know. Also, I would like to thank all of the people who have reviewed my first chapter. I greatly appreciate everyone's positive responses to my work. Finally, I wanted to let my readers know that there will be more ShizNat interactions in the coming chapters (more so than in this one).

P.S. It seems that I made some minor errors in this chapter; however, I have since corrected them. Ookini, 'In Absentia,' 'Kar' and 'Rile E. Coyote.'


	3. Chapter 2: The Color of Love and Death

Disclaimer: Mai-Hime is the property of Sunrise and Bandai.

Warning: This story contains graphic violence, sex and coarse language. If you are uncomfortable with any of these, please refrain from reading.

Chapter 2: The Color of Love and Death

**Fuuka, Japan: 2 years after the events of the Carnival**

Shizuru woke to an empty bed. This, in and of itself, was incredibly odd. Normally, after an especially…enthusiastic bout of lovemaking, the former kaichou would be the first to shake herself free from the strong, yet gentle, arms of slumber and venture back to the land of the conscious. Natsuki, on the other hand, had the tendency to sleep like the dead. So much so, in fact, that the lovers had been forced to invest in two separate alarm clocks, in the event that one proved to be insufficient in rousing the drowsy biker. On this particular occasion, though, Shizuru found her girlfriend's side of the mattress conspicuously void of its usual inhabitant. Delicately rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Shizuru rose to a seated position on the bed, allowing the red, silk sheets to run like waves down her naked torso and gather in a pile at her waist.

Considering Natsuki's modesty, one might find it slightly odd that their bed was covered in red, silk sheets. Not to mention, matching pillow cases. However, the truth of the matter was that Fuuka's Ice Princess was the one who selected said bedding. Shizuru couldn't help but allow a whimsical smile to play its way across her face, whenever she remembered the day that Natsuki had surprised her by not only purchasing the sheets, but by insisting that they utilize them immediately. After her puppy had basically pinned Shizuru to the bed and ravaged her body until her sweat glands had all but ceased to function, it occurred to the former kaichou to ask Natsuki why she had chosen to buy _those_ particular sheets.

**1 year and 4 months earlier**

"Nat-su-ki," Shizuru purred, her body glowing with perspiration and something else. Something that could only be described as exhausted bliss.

"Mm," Natsuki replied, her hair splayed across Shizuru's bare breasts, like an additional blanket of black satin.

"Why red silk?"

"N-nani?"

A slow, contented smile graced Shizuru's lips. She knew that if her lover hadn't already been flushed with spent desire, she would've been blushing cutely at that question. Knowing that Natsuki was purposely trying to play dumb, in a futile effort to avoid answering her inquiry for whatever reason, Shizuru doggedly continued, "Ara, Natsuki must have made plans in advance, to buy such suggestive bedding."

"B-baka! That just-I mean-you just-" Natsuki stammered in a desperate attempt to defend her honor.

Shizuru giggled at her girlfriend's awkward denial as she stroked her scalp lovingly, "Natsuki acts as though our previous actions were an unfortunate accident."

"T-t-that's-"

"Ikezu…" Shizuru whispered, keeping her voice hushed in order to feign sadness, while simultaneously hiding her amusement. Even going so far as to remove her fingers from her lover's gorgeous mane, albeit, a little regretfully.

"N-no, I mean, I love what we do-I mean, what we did…" Natsuki babbled, quickly rising from her position on Shizuru's chest to look into her girlfriend's eyes.

Seeing the adoration in those viridian spheres tinged with guilt was so overwhelming that Shizuru felt the need to look away for a moment, "Kanin na **(1)**, Natsuki, I was only teasing you."

"Shizuru…" Natsuki groaned in exasperation, settling her head back onto its previous resting place. A comfortable silence ensued until Shizuru suddenly came to a startling conclusion.

"Natsuki avoided answering my question," Shizuru remarked, smiling in admiration at her lover's cleverness. Natsuki had actually managed to curve the conversation away from its original topic by playing Shizuru's game. _She won't win, though_, Shizuru inwardly mused.

"W-well, I-why does the color even matter?" Natsuki mumbled, refusing to meet Shizuru's gaze.

"Why indeed…" Shizuru countered, bringing her finger to her chin in her signature 'thinking' pose.

Natsuki was silent for a moment, only breaking the calm to let out a long sigh of defeat, "Do you really want to know?"

"Hai," Shizuru responded, her interest newly peaked beyond the point of teasing by the solemnity in her girlfriend's tone.

"The red, it..." Natsuki stated, her voice drifting off into an unintelligible murmur.

"Nani?" Shizuru softly prodded.

"The red," Natsuki shifted her head so that she could face Shizuru, "it matches your eyes."

**Present day**

Upon recalling the sweetness of the memory, Shizuru lifted Natsuki's pillow from the mattress and pressed it to her nose. Greedily, almost hungrily, drawing her lover's fresh scent from the fabric. After admitting to herself that the pillow was not effectively satiating her craving for the younger woman, Shizuru decided to go in search of her wayward girlfriend. Once she had gotten to her feet, the former kaichou changed into her sleeping yukata and proceeded to search the two-bedroom apartment.

Initially, Shizuru had assumed that Natsuki had agreed to move in with her out of practicality. After the biker's apartment had been destroyed in the Carnival, she had opted to share a dorm with Mai and Mikoto. However, as soon as Shizuru began her first trimester at Fuuka University, the former kaichou hesitantly brought up the idea of them moving in together. To her surprise, and barely-concealed delight, Natsuki consented to the suggestion even though they had only been officially dating for a little over a month. Still raw and insecure, regarding her bond with the Lone Wolf, the older woman found it hard to believe that Natsuki would be willing to share an apartment with her out of any desire to further their relationship. Therefore, when her lover appeared reluctant to get a two-bedroom apartment, Shizuru was perplexed. Didn't Natsuki want her own room? Yes, they were intimate, but they had yet to do the deed. The furthest they had gone was open-mouth kissing and heavy petting. Yet, when Shizuru mentioned that several two-bedrooms were available in downtown Fuuka, her girlfriend acted noticeably put-off, even offended.

Finally, out of sheer frustration, the older woman confronted Natsuki about her strange behavior. At first, the biker pleaded the money issue: a two bedroom apartment, when they were both girls and perfectly capable of sharing a room, was an unnecessary luxury. Shizuru quickly deflated Natsuki's logic by pointing out that lingerie (at least in such a massive quantity) and video games were also unnecessary luxuries. The raven-haired beauty, cornered by her lover's superior debating abilities, eventually submitted. Expecting to hear something akin to 'Another room is pointless when I can just sleep on the couch,' Shizuru nearly swallowed her own tongue when Natsuki stated, "I just don't understand why we need separate rooms if, um, we, er... share the same bed."

As expected, though, the biker was quick to explain away the forwardness of her admission by claiming that _sharing_ a bed only amounted to them literally _sleeping_ together, not engaging in any other late-night activities. Shizuru, though, was far from disappointed. Just knowing that Natsuki wanted them to be together, even as they rested, made her incredibly happy. However, the former kaichou maintained that they should rent a two-bedroom apartment, just so that they would have an additional room at their disposal to use as a guestroom/study. The apartment that they had chosen, and in which they still resided, was small enough to be cozy but large enough to entertain a small group of people. Aside from their bedroom and the guestroom, there was a spacious kitchen with a tile floor resembling polished granite, which had been equipped with hardwood counters and cabinets. Said kitchen led into a den with rich, burgundy carpeting that Natsuki had furnished with a leather sofa and recliner. The den was also home to the younger woman's beloved entertainment system, which included at least four, different game consoles. A narrow hallway led from the den to the couple's bedroom, and then onward to their guestroom and bathroom.

Shizuru chose to begin her quest in the kitchen, but was unsuccessful. The den yielded equally unsatisfactory results, although, the former kaichou did pause to note the trail of hastily-shed clothing that led from Natsuki's discarded Xbox 360 headset to the open doorway of their bedroom **(2)**. During her brief appraisal of this evocative display, Shizuru's eyes lighted on her lover's grey sweats, which were heaped together alongside the older woman's lavender skirt and blazer. The clothes were so representative of their relationship: casual sensibility meets sophisticated elegance. The baggy pants and hoodie, especially, pulled on Shizuru's heartstrings. It amazed the older woman, still, how a simple set of clothing could illicit such an emotional response within her when it was connected to thoughts of her lover. The warmth that began to stir beneath her breast intensified Shizuru's need to find Natsuki and, as a result, she began to journey toward the only other potential hiding place in the apartment: the bathroom (the guestroom was out of the question, as Natsuki rarely entered it).

For a moment, she forgot to breathe. She seemed to do that a lot around Natsuki. However, this time, her oxygen deprivation was perfectly understandable (at least, in Shizuru's opinion). From her silent position in the bathroom doorway, the former kaichou worried her lip and flushed hotly at the sight that lay before her. Natsuki stood clad in nothing but a knee-length robe of navy blue, beside the enormous tub. The tub that could easily seat two people and that was outfitted with massaging jets. As Shizuru watched, feeling a bit like a teenage boy peeping at his neighbor's wife through an upstairs window, her lover sat on the edge of the tub and trailed her hand through the steaming, churning water. The biker's brow furrowed briefly in consideration, and then smoothed out as she determined that the water was, indeed, the right temperature. After checking the bath, Natsuki went about lighting an aroma therapy candle that she had perched on the countertop next to the sink. Shizuru inhaled quietly, so as to ensure herself a few more precious seconds of secret observation, and smiled when she concluded that her girlfriend had selected jasmine.

Moreover, the soft glow of the meager flame in the dimness (Natsuki had apparently lowered the lights) accentuated the warm colors of the room: black, marbleized tiles and honey-hued walls. Yet, out of all of those mesmerizing sights, the older woman's eyes remained fixed on the object of her affection. Shizuru took in every curve of Natsuki's body beneath the nearly-sheer fabric of her robe; every inch of her porcelain skin that remained exposed; every subtle movement of her strong, yet feminine, limbs. Before she could quell it, an audible gasp left the former kaichou's throat when Natsuki took a hairclip from the counter and used it to secure her obsidian tresses in a messy twist at the back of her head.

Hearing the sharp inhalation, the biker whirled around to face Shizuru, "O-oi, you shouldn't sneak up on people like that." Natsuki's tone was a little sharp, but the older woman knew that her lover only spoke that way out of wounded pride for being caught unawares so easily.

"Kanin na, Natsuki. Are you taking a bath?"

"Hai."

"Would my Natsuki like some company?" Shizuru asked mischievously, in an attempt to coax the younger woman into supplying her with a lovely blush. Instead of a blush, though, Shizuru received a familiar, crooked grin that made her heart flutter like an ensnared canary.

"Hai," Natsuki replied.

Several minutes later, Shizuru found herself easing back into Natsuki's firm embrace as the lightly foaming water lapped at her flushed skin. Normally, the older woman allowed her lover to rest her back against Shizuru's rather ample chest on the rare occasions when they chose to take a bath together as opposed to a shower. However, today, Natsuki persisted that they should reverse their usual roles. Not one to challenge such a sweet request, the former kaichou gladly abdicated her spot behind Natsuki for an equally rewarding one in front of her girlfriend. Before entering the bath, Shizuru had mirrored the younger woman by fashioning her hair into a high ponytail so as not to get it unnecessarily damp. This action had afforded Natsuki ideal access to the sensitive skin on the back of her lover's neck and shoulders. Access that the biker now took full advantage of as she laid tender, barely-there kisses on the previously mentioned area. Such gentle attention, accompanied by aimless caresses on Shizuru's abdomen, caused the older woman to sigh in contentment.

"Natsuki?" Shizuru breathed, her composure beginning to waver under the younger woman's soothing ministrations.

"Mm," Natsuki responded, before licking a bead of sweat from the former kaichou's shoulder blade.

A delicious shudder ran through Shizuru's body at this gesture. In spite of that, though, her voice continued to stay surprisingly even, "Natsuki does not usually awaken before me."

The biker was unsure of how to reply to her lover's statement, it was more of a comment than a question, "Hai, what about it?"

"I was lonely," Shizuru answered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Natsuki paused to regard her lover's expression with interest. Even though she could not get a precise impression of the older woman's face from her position behind Shizuru, she could see enough of it to know that her lover was biting her lip anxiously and averting her eyes. It was these moments—when Shizuru allowed her conditioned veneer to crack and reveal her heartbreaking vulnerability—that touched Natsuki more than anything else the former kaichou could have willingly devised.

"Gomen," the biker murmured into the nape of her lover's neck, "I wanted to surprise you."

The older woman turned her head so that her girlfriend was trapped within her peripheral vision, "Natsuki… planned this?"

The younger woman lifted one of her arms from Shizuru's waist to sheepishly rub the back of her neck. All the while, attempting to focus her eyes on the swirling currents of the water as opposed to the hypnotizing gaze of her lover, "H-hai…I noticed, before, when we were—you know—in bed, that you were kind of stiff. Probably from being at the office. So, I thought that since we had a few hours before bed, I could run a bath for you to help you relax."

A sweet pang coursed through Shizuru's heart as she comprehended the full extent of Natsuki's insight and thoughtfulness. Unable to voice her adoration as completely as she would have liked, Shizuru settled for murmuring her lover's name in appreciation. However, the former kaichou couldn't help but allow herself a minor tease, "So my Natsuki wasn't trying to seduce me? Ikezu."

Having turned from the biker, in order to execute the tease without suspicion, Shizuru did not see Natsuki's reaction to her words. Therefore, when a husky voice dripped the phrase "I never said that" into the older woman's ear, her eyes widened a fraction of an inch in shock. Before Shizuru could successfully counter, the younger woman latched onto the vein at the side of her neck and began sucking and nibbling on it. At the same time, Natsuki removed her hands from the former kaichou's waist and glided her palms over Shizuru's already-erect nipples. At the enticing contact, the older woman threw back her head and allowed it to rest on her lover's left shoulder, arching her spine in an effort to increase the pressure on her breasts.

Natsuki let out a slight whimper of her own, as Shizuru's movement effectually pressed her shoulders into the biker's aching chest. In response, the younger woman cupped the full, slippery orbs beneath her hands and gingerly kneaded the tender flesh.

"N-Natsuki…" Shizuru panted, her eyes lidded, "w-we should get o-out of the t-tub so-uh-n." The former kaichou's attempt at a tease came out slightly garbled at the end when Natsuki pinched one of Shizuru's pert buds.

"Later," Natsuki replied, her voice quickly becoming a lust-induced growl.

"Ara," the older woman managed to slip in before the biker tilted Shizuru's head to the side so that she could capture the former kaichou's lips in an aggressive kiss. Despite its intensity, though, Natsuki remained gentle and loving: using her tongue to stroke the inside of her lover's mouth. Shizuru moaned in welcome and brought her right arm up and around the younger woman's neck to pull her even further into the kiss, earning herself a throaty groan of approval from Natsuki. The biker, feeling her desire for the woman in her arms rising to an almost unbearable level, released one of Shizuru's breasts in order to creep her way down the length of the older woman's sleek abdomen. Throughout the journey, Natsuki fought the urge to simply thrust her hand into the steamy water that obscured the alluring area between her girlfriend's thighs.

Shizuru, however, wouldn't have complained at this point. The former kaichou's body had already surrendered itself completely in the wake of her lover's eager touch, and her mind was starting to lose its ability to operate properly aside from registering the wonderful things that the biker was doing to her. In fact, the one lucid thought that crossed Shizuru's mind was that Natsuki's hand was making agonizingly slow progress toward what the older woman silently deemed as its _necessary_ location. Suddenly, as though the former kaichou's inner pleas had willed it there, her girlfriend's palm came to rest against her sex. Natsuki smiled into their kiss, as she applied pressure to her lover's slit, running the tips of her fingers along its length. Shizuru's hips bucked at the hand, soundlessly begging for more. The abrupt motion-enough to extract the older woman from Natsuki's mouth. Free from the younger woman's probing tongue, Shizuru let out a series of moans and whimpers that seemed to be saturated with her saccharine accent. The beautiful sounds of the former kaichou immediately increased the throbbing in Natsuki's lower body exponentially. In an unconscious effort to alleviate some of her own arousal, the biker entwined her legs with those of her lover in order to maximize their body contact.

As Natsuki began circling Shizuru's clit, the older woman temporarily regained enough mental clarity to murmur, "Natsuki, o-ne-gai…" Deciding to obey the former kaichou's request, as well as her own longing, the younger woman slipped two fingers into Shizuru's opening. The feeling of fulfillment was almost instantaneous for the older woman. "Nnhnn," Shizuru shuddered, clutching at the back of her lover's hair with the arm that was wrapped around Natsuki's neck.

Once Shizuru's walls had relaxed around the biker's digits, Natsuki began to set a gradual pace so as not to drive her girlfriend to release too quickly. When her lover started riding Natsuki's hand in an attempt to increase the speed of the thrusts, though, the younger woman found that she just couldn't deny the former kaichou due to the fact that Shizuru's movements resulted in her back sliding pleasantly against the biker's breasts. However, Natsuki went one step beyond the older woman's expectations and added a third finger, causing Shizuru to scream outright as her inner walls clamped down on her lover's hand. As the waves of dizzying pleasure rocked her girlfriend's body, Natsuki's free hand clutched Shizuru's left while her other hand stayed encased within moist folds to help the former kaichou work through the aftershocks of her orgasm.

"We should probably be getting to bed," Natsuki remarked, as she gently removed her hand from her lover's core, and stroked away the bangs that clung to the damp skin of Shizuru's rosy forehead and cheeks. After dropping a soft kiss on each of the still-closed eyelids of the older woman, Natsuki moved to leave the bath. However, the biker was thwarted mid-way out of the tub by a weakened grasp on her wrist.

"Does Natsuki not want her turn?" Shizuru asked, pouting seductively.

The younger woman smiled warmly at her lover, admiring the way in which she still wished to care for Natsuki's needs even though she was obviously exhausted. "That's ok Shizuru; you'll have plenty of other chances. You should really get some sleep," Natsuki assured her, before making a second attempt to leave the tub, only to be retained yet again. This time, though, the grasp was quite a bit stronger.

"I insist," Shizuru purred, her eyes glinting predatorily. Without waiting for the biker to respond, the former kaichou spun her around and pushed down on her thighs. Said maneuver resulted in Natsuki sitting on the edge of the bath with Shizuru's head between her legs.

"S-Shizuru!" The older woman blinked at her innocently from her suggestive spot, causing Natsuki to smack herself in the face out of frustration. Shizuru's expression was a disarming combination of naughty and nice that left the younger woman feeling strangely defeated. Was it really worth it to argue? Shouldn't she just give in? No, she would not submit, dammit! "Fujino Shizuru, cease and desist this instant! We are going to bed," the biker began, then reacting to the twinkle in her lover's eye at Natsuki's turn-of-phrase, "_Gah, to sleep!_"

The former kaichou raised a quizzical eyebrow and smirked (quite ungracefully, in stark contrast to her public image), "My puppy is being very…assertive today. She deserves a treat." Shizuru bent her head, and proceeded to deliver aforementioned treat in the form of hot, open-mouth kisses along the inside of Natsuki's thighs, while picturing her girlfriend as a stern principal **(3)** reprimanding the older woman for her insolence…_ara, ara_.

Natsuki bit the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning, but she could not suppress the tremor that came along with it. The truth of the matter was that the raven-haired beauty was still deeply aroused. However, she was also well aware that the older woman had a business trip the next day for which she had taken off classes, and was greatly in need of rest. Shizuru remained completely unconcerned, which she thoroughly demonstrated by licking and nipping her way toward the biker's center.

"O-oi, not-ah-we need to-sle-ah" the younger woman stammered incoherently, as her knuckles turned white from how hard she was gripping the edge of the tub. The former kaichou ignored her protests and began leaving light pecks on Natsuki's waistline as she craftily snuck a hand up to curl around her lover's side in order to caress the spot that originally contained the biker's Hime mark. Natsuki's breath hitched and tears sprung to her eyes as Shizuru stroked the hypersensitive spot; although, the best aspect of this sensuous torture (at least, in the older woman's opinion) was that her girlfriend's entire body flushed a brilliant crimson.

"So beautiful…" Shizuru mused, enraptured by the intoxicating sight of her most precious person in such an exposed state, both physically and emotionally. She was truly kneeling before a goddess. Many people worshipped the ruby-eyed vixen, but they did not know what she knew. They had never experienced this vision of wanton splendor as she had. They could never know the truth. The former kaichou took a moment to fully enjoy the sight before she approached Natsuki's most intimate area. As she shifted closer to her lover's core, the thick scent of the younger woman's arousal nearly made Shizuru swoon. She loved that smell; it was musky, and primal, and one of the most concrete reminders of the biker's desire. After taking in her girlfriend's perfume, the older woman took another moment to study the shock of black curls and glistening lips before giving the slit a long, slow lick.

"Ah! Shi-uh-ru!" Natsuki's words spilled out in uneven cries. Shizuru licked again, but this time, on either side of the slit. "Shi-zuru, plea…se," the biker groaned.

The former kaichou was quick to silence her partner by encasing a tiny bead of flesh, within the folds, between her lips and rasping her tongue across its delicate surface. When the nub had become especially sensitive, Shizuru began sucking it lightly, causing Natsuki to pant out a fairly random series of broken sentences interspersed with reverent utterances of the older woman's name. Sensing that her lover's release was close at hand, judging from the raven-haired beauty's heavily-lidded eyes and frantically jerking hips, Shizuru used one of her hands to clasp Natsuki's rear and the other to steady her lower body. Once she was certain that the impending orgasm wouldn't cause the younger woman to inadvertently injure herself (or, at the very least, humiliate herself), the former kaichou plunged her tongue deep into her girlfriend's center. Natsuki tried to scream, but it caught in her throat, coming out as a mere squeak. Tangling her hands in her lover's chestnut locks (undoing the older woman's ponytail in the process), the biker hunched forward and wrapped her legs around Shizuru's torso as her walls convulsed in spasms of ecstasy around her girlfriend's tongue. Then, once Natsuki loosened her death grip on the other female, Shizuru eased her down from the unbelievable high by patiently (ravenously) licking up all of her juices.

Instinctively, the younger woman reached out for her lover as the extreme bliss faded away, leaving behind a bittersweet aftertaste. The former kaichou lowered Natsuki back into the bath, and cuddled her warm body. In her fragile state, the biker buried her head in Shizuru's shoulder and fervently kissed her collarbone. After taking a few minutes to pull herself together, the raven-haired beauty rested her forehead against that of her girlfriend and murmured, "_Now_ can we get out of the tub?"

"Hai," Shizuru giggled, before giving Natsuki a peck on the nose.

"Good, because I don't want to suffer the embarrassment of having you 'save' me from drowning if I pass out in here from excessive activity," Natsuki sighed. When her quip did not elicit melodious laughter from her lover, the younger woman regarded Shizuru with curiosity. The infamous index finger that had made its way to the former kaichou's chin was never a good sign.

"I suppose that is a possibility," Shizuru remarked judiciously, "perhaps Natsuki and I should practice CPR now, in case of an emergen-"

"SHIZURU!"

**Marseille, France: 1 year after the events of the Carnival**

The heat was nearly unbearable. It scorched her lungs when she breathed, as though she were inhaling the flames themselves. Yet she made no move to escape from what seemed like the very bowels of Hell. Instead, she strode on, her gate purposeful and determined. Though, it was not truly her gate. No, this was not her body, but rather a vehicle in which she was traveling (trapped). People swarmed about her in complete disarray, slamming into each-other, trampling each-other. Some of them were bleeding, and the consciousness that was not hers—but that belonged to the body in which she was an unwilling guest—idly noted that they would all die, no matter how fast they ran.

Suddenly she found herself sitting upright in bed, sucking in ragged gulps of cool air, her sheets soaked with sweat. A weight was draped over her waist. Fine lines of bewilderment creased her forehead as she observed the soft body lying adjacent to her own, as though it was her first time seeing it. Blinking repeatedly, she took in the peach-colored skin and the golden-brown curls of the other female, as well as their shared state of undress. Ah, that's right, the restaurant. She remembered now. Pain seared into the back of her left eye like an ice pick, causing her to hurriedly free herself from the sleeping woman's arm and bolt for the restroom. Once confined in the safety of the lavatory, she stooped over the toilet and purged her stomach of its contents until there was nothing left. Even then, she continued to dry-heave for several minutes. When the pain subsided, she wept bitterly, curling into a tight ball against the bathroom door.

After drying her eyes with a shaky hand, she took a hot shower and dressed in a pair of olive-green cargos and a ribbed, white tank-top. Her actions so soundless, that the other woman's slumber remained peacefully undisturbed. Throwing on a black and midnight-blue racing jacket made of well-worn leather, she approached the bed and lightly nudged the dozing female into wakefulness.

"Eh **(4)**, get dressed, I need to drop you off at your apartment. Regrettably, I have to catch an early flight," She asserted.

The previously-sleeping woman stretched languidly as her sapphire eyes flickered open. A scowl marred her lovely features as she read the numbers of the digital clock on the bed-side table, "It is only five thirty."

"Oui **(5)**, and my plane departs at six," She persisted. It was a lie, but she desperately wanted to be alone with her thoughts at the moment. The other female rose reluctantly, staggering slightly from lingering drowsiness. Finally pulling herself into full consciousness after several seconds, the young lady realized that she was naked and subsequently blushed. "That shade of red suits you rather well," She remarked, immediately amplifying the pink tinge on the woman's cheeks to a deep rose.

Once the still-flushed female was dressed in the strapless, black dress and stilettos that she had been wearing the night before, the two women took a taxi back to the young lady's apartment. The majority of the ride was silent, until the embarrassed female turned to her companion and stammered out, "I don't usually do this…"

Sensing the woman's regret, she took her hand reassuringly, "I require no explanations." She followed up her statement by giving the woman the mercy of a warm, knowing smile.

"Merci **(6)**," the other female replied, returning the smile. "Will-" the young woman's voice appeared to falter as she brought her eyes up from her lap to meet startling ruby spheres, "will you be… around, again?"

"Non **(7)**," She replied, averting her eyes. Her smile, which the young lady had originally thought of as comforting and endearing, now seemed hollow. As the taxi pulled up to the curb at the entrance to her building, the woman turned to exit the vehicle. However, before she could leave, the husky voice added, "I enjoyed our time together, Faye." For reasons unbeknownst to herself, Faye's eyes blurred with unshed tears as the taxi pulled away from the apartment complex.

A certain emptiness pervaded her body as she climbed the stairs to her hotel suite. The emptiness was distressing, but she had learned to live with it. Like a dog learns how to live with a missing leg. Tonight, though, the void within her was causing her an unusual amount of discomfort. She wanted to be fulfilled. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so quick to rid herself of Faye's company. Those thoughts swam through her mind as she ran her card through the slide on the door. After hearing the satisfying beep of the lock granting her entry to the room, she stepped inside.

A metallic click pierced the still air at the back of her head.

In the time that it took for the man behind her to blink, she had whirled around to confront the source of the sound. Yet, in her mind, she performed the action in slow motion. Similarly, the smoothly-executed movement that enabled her to slip the 9mm—complete with silencer **(8)** —from his hand and release a single round into his forehead, appeared to her as though it had taken an eternity to carry out. Only when the man's body slumped lifelessly to the cream carpet did time resume its normal speed. Clutching the newly-acquired firearm in her hand, she did a complete scan of the suite, checking every corner of the kitchen area, bathroom and sleeping quarters. Satisfied with the results of her search, she tucked the gun in the waistband of her pants as she kneeled down to inspect the cadaver. She concluded from his wheat-colored hair and ashy eyes that the man was of Western descent, most-likely American or European. His wallet, as expected, contained no identification of any kind. The same was true of the pockets on his khakis slacks and polo shirt. After doing a clean sweep of his clothing, she stripped the corpse down to his underwear and ran her hands over his limbs and torso. She paused half-way down his left arm before going to the kitchen to retrieve a chef's knife.

**7 hours later**

The atmosphere at the Gare de Marseille Saint-Charles **(9)** was thick with the perspiration and harsh voices of strangers in a rush. It was the perfect location. Out in the open, yet busy enough so that a person could easily maintain anonymity if he or she so chose. In the midst of this bustling activity, a bespectacled gentleman with a gradually-receding head of blonde hair and piercing, silver eyes seated himself on a bench at the very center of the station. After taking his seat, he lowered the briefcase that he had been carrying to the ground, along with a lengthy object that was wrapped in what looked like black velvet and secured with a red, braided chord. Beside him, but keeping her distance, sat a woman dressed in a fitted, black suit with a matching vest and dress shirt. A white, silk necktie elegantly contrasted the darkness of the outfit and a black fedora completed the handsome ensemble.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle **(10)**," the man declared, exuding artificial cordiality, "I see that you are well."

The woman smirked coldly at the irony of his statement, "Indeed. Although, no thanks to your employer."

"My employer?"

"Oui," she continued, regarding him with scarlet orbs from behind the opaque lenses of her designer sunglasses as she placed something small and metallic **(11)** by his side, "Now, Monsieur Smith, would you like to tell me why one of your covert operatives so rudely attempted to… dispose of me?"

Smith gingerly plucked the item from the bench and studied it with interest, "I assure you, I have no knowledge concerning-"

"Really? I am glad to hear that," she interjected, "Because I am sure that you are aware of the many skills that I possess, and therefore, are also aware of what I am capable of doing to you in the event that I discover that you were not being completely forthright with me."

The gentleman did not show any outward signs of intimidation, but a glimmer of uneasiness momentarily shimmered across his eyes, "I am."

"Good, because informants are difficult to come by. Not impossible, mind you, but difficult. And I am somewhat pressed for time."

"I see. Well, as I stated before, I have no knowledge concerning the corporation's attempt on your life," Smith paused in order to read her expression, but the few of her features that were clearly visible remained stoic, "However, if I were to venture a guess, I would assume that my employer has deemed you an unnecessary risk."

"Ah, so when the scientists can no longer control their experiment, they simply terminate it?"

"Something to that effect."

"I do enjoy a challenge," she murmured, another icy grin playing its way over her lips, "Did you bring the merchandise that I requested?"

"Oui," Smith replied, extracting a polished-oak box from his briefcase and holding it out for her to take. When she demonstrated a reluctance to accept the box, he couldn't help but chuckle, "There is no tracking device. As I have already confessed, I am well aware of your many skills."

Her eyebrows lifted in what he hoped was amusement over his semi-serious jest, as she removed the box from his hand. Without opening it, she carefully placed the box in a leather valise **(12)** at her feet. Afterwards, she motioned for him to pass her the object wrapped in velvet, which she hefted in her palms.

"Is it genuine?" she asked, her eyes locked on the item in question.

"It is," he responded, smiling in self-appreciation, "and, I must inform you, it was not an easy object to obtain."

Ignoring his comment, she rose from the bench with the bundle and the handle of her valise grasped in her left hand, "Your payment will be delivered in the usual way."

"Hopefully, you will feel the need to call on my services again in the near future," Smith remarked, "Before you go, may I ask what you plan on doing about your current...standing with the corporation? I am merely curious."

The smile returned, disturbing in its frosty serenity, "Curiosity killed the cat, Monsieur Smith."

Author's notes:

**(1)**- Kanin na is Kyoto-ben (a Japanese dialect) for 'I'm sorry.'

**(2)**- The events in this particular segment of the chapter are directly following the events that took place in the matching segment of the previous chapter.

**(3)**- The reference to a stern principal is my way of paying homage to Natsuki's alter-ego in 'Mai-Otome,' the sister series to 'Mai-Hime.'

**(4)**- Eh is French for 'Hey.'

**(5)**- Oui, pronounced we, is French for 'Yes.'

**(6)**- Merci is French for 'Thank you.'

**(7)**- Non is French for 'No.'

**(8)**- A 9mm is a caliber of handgun, and a silencer is a device affixed to the barrel of a gun in order to decrease the sound generated from the bullet firing.

**(9)**- Gare de Marseille Saint-Charles is the primary train station in Marseille, France.

**(10)**- Bonjour, Mademoiselle is French for 'Good day, Miss.'

**(11)**- The small, metallic object is a tracking device that she cut from the deceased operative's left arm. Said tracking device is specific to Mr. Smith's employer.

**(12)**- A valise is similar to a purse, with an opening at the top that clasps shut. However, it tends to be larger than an average purse, and can stand upright on its own.

Additional comments:

Just a reminder, the 'Present day' segment of this chapter is just reverting back to the scene before it that takes place '2 years after the events of the Carnival.' Also, I do not speak French, so if anyone notices any mistakes in my utilization of the language, please let me know so that I may correct them. Finally, I have never written a lesbian love scene before, so please be kind but feel free to provide constructive criticism.

P.S. Ah, it seems that I do need to ask my readers to pardon my French (excuse the pun). Ookini, 'One of your recent fans,' for your help with my language skills; you're right, I do value precision. Oh, by the way, my next update on this fic may take some time. I am starting a new semester of classes, and I will probably be too busy to write often. So, I beg my readers... don't hurt me *puppy-dog eyes.*

P.P.S. This is NOT a real update; it is merely an edit. There is NO new material in these chapters, and I apologize for the confusion.


	4. Chapter 3: Parallel States

Disclaimer: Mai-Hime is the property of Sunrise and Bandai.

Warning: This story contains graphic violence, sex and coarse language. If you are uncomfortable with any of these, please refrain from reading.

Chapter 3: Parallel States

**Fuuka, Japan: 2 years after the events of the Carnival **

The apathetic red-head rested the base of her skull against her entwined arms as she tipped her chair back in a maneuver that somehow managed to be both lethargic and irritated. Emphasis on irritated. Meanwhile, her raven-haired companion—who, was coincidentally the subject of the red-head's current annoyance—remained completely absorbed in her appraisal of a seemingly foreign and expensive box of herbal tea, and therefore, did not notice (or, simply did not acknowledge) the red-head's exasperated glare and occasional sighs of discontent. Finally, after watching what she deemed as the obtuse, older woman in front of her scrutinize the tiny package for a full ten minutes, the red-head decided to be a tad more verbal about her impatience.

"Oi, Kuga, if you're done testing out your x-ray vision, I'd like to get the hell out of here. Preferably while I'm still breathing."

Natsuki continued to gently palm the object of her inspection without even gracing Nao with a look of disapproval for cursing in public—a habit that the latter girl always found ridiculously hypocritical as the biker often used brash language with very little consideration for the delicate ears of her listeners. Well, except when a certain brunette was present, of course. The extent to which Natsuki was whipped by her lover never ceased to entertain Nao.

"Can you even afford that?" Nao asked, changing her tactics—if she couldn't elicit Natsuki's attention by exploiting her own bad behavior, she would get it by wounding the other girl's tender pride. After the elder of the two women had graduated, which was a feat unto itself given her atrocious attendance record and disciplinary file, Natsuki's father had withdrawn the financial support that he had been providing her with for most of her life. Although Natsuki had been practical enough to store a generous portion of the money away in a private bank account, the sudden elimination of her monetary resources greatly hurt her sense of personal stability. In fact, the biker had felt so self-conscious about the entire ordeal that she didn't tell Shizuru about it until nearly a month after the events had transpired.

"Mind your own business, Nao!" Natsuki growled. Despite the power behind her exclamation, though, Nao could see the uncertainty that clawed at the older woman's confidence in the attempted glare that the biker shot her way. The owner of the tea shop, a man of diminutive stature with a receding hairline and an emasculating wife (she had made a very animated appearance early on in the course of Natsuki and Nao's visit), gave both girls a decidedly suspicious look—as though he expected one of them, the red-head in particular, to pull a weapon on him at any moment and rob him of his money as well as what little dignity his spouse allowed him **(1)**. Nao threw him a knowing smile that let the tiny bastard know just how well she understood his look, and just how little he could truly do about it if she decided to _fulfill_ his _expectations_ of her. The red-head even went so far as to glance around the quaint little shop as though she were casing the place, before slipping the owner another sly grin. All of Nao's actions were for show; she had no intention of stealing from the man, no matter how tempting it may be, but she had every intention of keeping the old dog on edge for however long Natsuki decided to remain browsing the store for a potential anniversary gift that would please her girlfriend. A goal—judging from Natsuki's concentration—that was apparently equivalent in importance and difficulty to diffusing a nuclear device.

"Excuse me… ojou-san **(2)**," the owner hesitantly voiced, giving Natsuki a noticeably forced bow. "Do you require assistance?" Nao smirked at the uncomfortable way that the man rang his hands, as though his fingers were just aching to snatch the box from the raven-haired woman's grasp. His condemnation of them was nearly palpable. The red-head couldn't help but idly wonder how much more the small fellow would revile their presence if he was aware of the _motivation_ behind it. For some reason, this secret knowledge only made Nao's smirk widen considerably.

"Domo…" Natsuki replied—then remembering her manners, "domo arigato **(3)**, but my friend and I are fine on our own." Nao knew that Natsuki did not mean to be short with the owner; she was simply embarrassed for drawing attention to herself with her previous outburst. A fact that would've been apparent to any of Natsuki's friends, who would have easily distinguished the tinge of scarlet on her cheeks as evidence of the biker's mortification. However, this same fact was not so apparent to the shopkeeper who—on top of his growing unease toward the two girls—now felt slightly insulted. In rebuttal, the little man did the only thing that he could do in such a situation, he made an indignant grumbling sound at the back of his throat (which Nao, with added amusement, thought sounded more like a feeble cough) and strutted (retreated) back to his position behind the check-out counter. The entire exchange between the paranoid owner and the flustered Natsuki nearly threw Nao into a fit of laughter; it was all that she could do to calm the hysterics down into a mild case of the church giggles. Nao's actions may have seemed cruel to the uneducated observer, but as the red-head saw it, she needed something to break up the monotony of this as-of-yet unproductive outing with her best friend.

Yes, despite their casual brawls with words (and, in a few cases, with fists—although these were promptly broken up by the former kaichou, whose reprimands (threats) left Nao with a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, even if the days of Kiyohime had passed), the two former delinquents were actually quite close. As she contemplated the curious nature of her attachment to the biker, Nao regarded Natsuki thoughtfully: the older girl had not changed much since the Carnival, which marked the beginning of their acquaintanceship. Natsuki's face retained its ivory smoothness and purity of expression, her eyes sustained their emerald luster and clarity, and her hair remained obsidian-black (if not growing even more luxurious with the onset of her adulthood). The only part of the girl that had truly… developed, and quite literally, was her physique. Over the last two years, Natsuki had gained a certain fullness through her hips, thighs and breasts that had only been vaguely alluded to by her adolescent body. Although she would've readily denied it if asked, especially due to her empathically self-declared sexual orientation, Nao couldn't help but conclude that Natsuki was—for lack of a better phrase—hot as Hell.

Of course, as soon as that thought happened to steal its way into her conscious mind from its rightful place within her subconscious, Nao quickly suppressed it with a furrow of her brows and a sharp pinch to the bridge of her nose. _Queer thoughts, go away_. _Don't come again another day _**(4)**_._ Nao smiled wanly at this inner moment of absurdity, before returning her gaze to the biker—only to find her eyes immediately drawn to the alluring way that the older girl's uniform pants clung to her shapely rear as she turned to place the tea box back on its proper shelf. After Natsuki's father had financially crippled the former Ice Princess, she decided—even in spite of Shizuru's constant reassurances that she could easily support the both of them with her salary from Fujino Industries—to obtain a part-time job. Said job took the form of a security position at Fuuka Mall. The work sat well with the biker's natural penchant for action and justice; not to mention the fact that it allowed Natsuki to carry weapons (albeit Chemical Mace and a stun gun). Moreover, it sat well with Shizuru, as the level of danger inherent in the position was not high enough to alarm the raven-haired beauty's normally protective lover—although, Nao was inclined to believe that the brunette's compliance had a lot to do with the uniform involved. Natsuki's guard uniform consisted of black trousers flanked on either side by a yellow stripe, a white button-up shirt with a collar, a black neck-tie, black shoes, a black cap complete with gold employer insignia and—when the weather made it necessary to wear—a handsome black leather jacket with matching faux-fur lapels and the word "SECURITY" etched on the back in the same shade of yellow as the stripe on her pants. The very same pants that had recently captured Nao's interest—and, she absently imagined, the interest of the former kaichou.

"Nao?" At the sound of her name spoken in a distinctly quizzical way, the red-head in question shook herself free from her mind's previous… entertainment (it was just her luck that the older girl had recently gotten off work before meeting her, and—therefore—did not yet have a chance to change out of the decidedly flattering uniform) to find that Natsuki had migrated toward the door and stood waiting for her to follow. "I said your name twice already, are you coming or did you suddenly decide to pursue a future in tea preparation?"

"Yea, yea, I'm coming. Keep your designer panties on, Kuga," Nao replied, falling back on Natsuki's lingerie fetish to distract the raven-haired woman—and perhaps, Nao herself—from the fact that the younger girl had been too busy ogling her friend's ass to respond earlier. If the biker's raging blush and heated glower were any indication, the distraction was quite effective. "So, I'm assuming that you didn't find anything for her. Wow, that was an hour of my life that I'll never get back."

Natsuki scoffed as the two women made their way down the street toward the older girl's parking spot, "I'm sure that it was a real waste… because you have such an active social life outside of me and the perverts that you tie up in dark alleys."

"Oi, after a day shopping with you, I actually miss those slimy bastards," Nao jeered as she, once again, entwined her arms behind her head to leisurely cradle the back of her skull. Natsuki gave the red-head her iconic lop-sided grin in appreciation of Nao's comeback before they fell into a comfortable silence. The younger woman glanced at the biker as they walked, noting the way that Natsuki's faintly troubled brows knitted into a worried scowl as they reached the sleek midnight-blue Ducati. "Whatever you get her, she'll love."

"Mhn?" Natsuki muttered, as though she were coming out of a light doze.

"Fujino, she'll love whatever you get her because it's from you, right?"

"Yea."

"So, why try so hard? Just get her some flowers or a card or whatever. She'll be happy either way."

"Don't you think I know that?"

"Then why-" Nao began, only to be cut off by an uncharacteristically ardent Natsuki.

"Because, it's important," the biker let out a sigh that was heavy with an ill-defined emotion, "Sometimes… I feel like, I don't know. Like she doesn't really believe that we're together. Like she thinks that she's just going to come home one day and I'll be gone. I don't want that. I don't want her to act relieved when I… when I tell her…" Natsuki turned to Nao in that moment, and the feeling lying just beneath the surface of her brilliant viridian eyes nearly choked the younger woman, "it's important, ok?"

Afraid to hazard a reply past the lump lodged deep within her throat, Nao simply settled for giving Natsuki a weak nod of understanding. The biker passed the red-head a warm smile of gratitude, before handing her a spare helmet. As Nao tucked her hair, which—she idly noted—had grown considerably long (it was well past her shoulders), into the helmet, she vaguely wondered why she suddenly felt disappointed that the feeling in her friend's eyes was not directed at her.

**Shanghai, China: 2 years after the events of the Carnival**

"Xièxiè **(5)**," Shizuru whispered gently as the lounge waitress gingerly presented her with a steaming cup of Rou Gui **(6)**.

"Will there be anything else, xiǎojiĕ **(7)**?"

"Not at the mo-" the brunette began, only to be interrupted by a pair of warm soft palms lightly covering her eyes.

"Guess who," the vocal equivalent of crushed velvet murmured into her ear.

"Ara… where are your manners? It is quite impolite to interrupt someone in the middle of addressing another," Shizuru chided, the good-natured lilt in her voice obviously betraying the pleasure that she felt as a result of her companion's presence.

"Well, you have only yourself to blame. Surprising you is a challenge that I simply can not resist," the brunette's companion replied, giving Shizuru a roguish grin that the former kaichou found extremely endearing—and, in a very comforting way—familiar. Of course, this particular attribute was not the only thing about her associate that Shizuru thought decidedly appealing. The woman was, after all, quite striking even to the casual observer. Her facial features were both delicate and hard, like the exquisite moldings on a Victorian style mansion. The skin that lay over these moldings was of a soft, peach hue—healthy and vivacious. Her hair was the silky color of fine, Italian coffee and hung down her back in long straight tresses that suggested that it was both thick and, if it were so inclined, voluminous. However, her most dashing feature was—by far—her eyes: a deep rich claret that surpassed even Shizuru's ruby sheen. The woman's body posture (she had slumped down into one of the gold-brocade chairs across from the lighter brunette, after entering the lounge) appeared casual, but hinted at an underlying pensiveness that could easily be misinterpreted as typical of her youth: she appeared to be in the latter half of her adolescence. Shizuru was aware that this was not the case—that this pensiveness was not a quality that the younger of the two would eventually come to outgrow—because she, unlike any of the other hotel patrons present, knew the sole origin of this tension. She knew it all too well because she already had experience dealing with this trait in another. The darker brunette turned to the waitress, who still stood patiently awaiting Shizuru's dismissal, and ordered a cup of Qi Dan **(8)**.

"It is on me," the older woman assured the server when she seemed hesitant about fulfilling the unexpected order. The waitress smiled approvingly and hurried off to fetch the tea.

"Did you wait long?" the younger woman asked, sincerely.

"Not at all, I just checked in no more than half an hour ago."

Shizuru's companion responded to her previous reply with a soft smile that changed the entire dynamic of her face. _A smile like that could break a person's heart_, the former kaichou mused, the thought not entirely devoid of ironic charm. As though anticipating the older woman's shift in focus, the girl drew her lower lip into her mouth for a mere second in a subtle display of anxiety before posing her next inquiry.

"How is she?"

Shizuru regarded the younger brunette with a soft smile of her own—although, this one was decidedly wistful, even defeated.

"She is well," the older girl asserted, "though, I doubt she will remain that way when the secret is out." Shizuru's tone cut through the adolescent's earnestly curious expression like well-tempered steel, causing her companion to flinch slightly—just a brief spasm of the shoulder muscles—as though she had quite-literally suffered the blow from a blade. The darker brunette's facial features even appeared to mimic the expression of one wounded: twisting into a distorted image of pain and regret.

"It is necessary," the younger of the two breathed hoarsely.

"Is it? If there is anything that I have learned in the last two years, it is never to underestimate her ability to understand or cope with that which she does not understand. My very relationship with her is a testament to that."

"Never doubt my knowledge of her," Shizuru's companion declared in a passionate whisper, but with no apparent malice behind that passion, "in some ways, I know her better than you do—perhaps, better than she knows herself." Fearing that she may have unintentionally raised the elder woman's hackles with her defensive retort, the girl attempted to soothe the former kaichou's nerves. Even going so far as to clasp Shizuru's graceful fingers in a greatly restrained gesture of reassurance. "Shi-chan, I do not underestimate her. But you must trust me. When the time comes, I will take full responsibility for…"

"For this betrayal," the older woman finished darkly.

**Milan, Italy: 1 year and 4 months after the events of the Carnival**

The call had come at approximately 3:00 am only two days prior. And although it had seemed totally irrelevant at the time, its possible significance now hung in Shizuru's consciousness like an ugly oil painting newly completed—its fumes clogging her senses with an acidic stench. That evening, or more appropriately morning, jumped to the forefront of the brunette's mind (including the events that followed it) as she discreetly scanned the occupants of the small café in the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II **(9)**. The ringing of their apartment phone woke Natsuki first, which was slightly surprising given the raven-haired beauty's catatonic tendencies. Gently disengaging herself from the arms of her still-dozing lover, the biker strode irately toward the source of the sound and gave the person on the other end an exceptionally curt "Oi" in greeting. Shizuru, no longer sensing the calming presence of the younger girl beside her, groggily lifted her head to determine what set of unacceptable circumstances had taken the raven-haired woman from her grasp, only to find Natsuki glowering at the receiver clutched in her hand. After a few moments, the former kaichou's lover—mumbling a few select curses into the mouthpiece—slammed the phone back into its cradle. When Shizuru had inquired about the identity of the caller, Natsuki shrugged and grumbled something about "drunken bakas" before crawling back under the sheets beside the brunette. A tiny niggling appeared to be warning the former kaichou, even then, that there was more to the event then a lush attempting to ring a cab service; however, the comforting warmth and pressure of a trim thigh being draped over her own combined with a coaxing hand that weaved itself through her chestnut tresses to draw her up against a gently rising chest, soon lulled Shizuru into a contented sleep.

The next day, at around 5:00 pm, the brunette received a second call. This time, in her office at Fujino Industries. Two things immediately struck the former kaichou as odd: firstly, the call came via the phone _inside_ her office, not via her personal secretary (as was the standard procedure with most such communications); and secondly, the few people who knew of her recent employment at her father's corporation—a handful of Fujino Tetsuo's business contacts and Shizuru's closest friends—would have registered on her caller identification. Pushing these rather troubling thoughts from her head, however, the brunette answered the phone politely. At first, there had been nothing but dead air, then—just as the former kaichou was about to end the call and resume her work—a voice broke the silence.

"Hello Shizuru."

Something about the way the person addressed her, perhaps the familiar use of her first name without an honorific or perhaps the tone in which it was spoken (tender… almost affectionate), momentarily caught the brunette off-guard.

Before she could find a suitable reply, the voice spoke again, "You do not know me, and I am afraid that I can not properly introduce myself in this way. But, I will say that we have something in common. Well, someone, actually."

"And," Shizuru began, the dry heat of foreboding turning her mouth to parchment paper with its intensity, "who might that someone be?"

"Natsuki," the voice answered, the tone remaining flat—emotionless.

"I am not fami-"

"Your lover," the voice interrupted before the brunette could finish denying her knowledge of the biker, "she is your lover, is she not?"

"Hai," Shizuru whispered, apprehending merely from the tone of the mysterious speaker that the caller already knew the answer. This fact alone partially fractured the former kaichou's composure, as Natsuki and herself had made every effort to conceal their relationship from the public for the sake of preserving both of their futures (the view on homosexuality in Japan still remained negative enough to adversely affect the two women if their orientations were ever revealed). The brunette tensed nearly to the point of rigor mortis as she clutched the phone to her ear, her body prepared for some unseen foe to reveal him or herself at any moment. "What do you want?" Shizuru finally asked, all pretences of courtesy dropped in the wake her one sole desire—to prevent any harm from coming to her, and more importantly, to her lover (who she silently prayed was safe at their apartment, studying for an upcoming exam in her Introduction to Chemistry class).

"Nothing of any material value. Only your time," the speaker assured her in a way that could almost be considered placating before providing the former kaichou with a specific hour and location at which they would meet the following afternoon. Shizuru couldn't help but raise a quizzical eyebrow when the caller proposed Italy as the rendezvous point, but—in a way—it gave the brunette a mild sense of relief. Whoever it was did not have immediate access to them. To their life. To Natsuki's life. This relief, however, did not prevent the former kaichou from remaining on edge—at least until she came home to find her raven-haired beauty napping peacefully in the open pages of a university textbook.

Shizuru felt the tension that had left her body, when she observed Natsuki's lovely face in a state of easy repose the night before, return to her in a rush of adrenaline as she took in the details of the elegant piazza **(10)** in which the café was situated. The enigmatic speaker was clever, to say the least. Not only was the Galleria crowded, thereby ensuring a certain amount of anonymity if the person in question decided to ambush the brunette, but the area—the café in particular—was also the perfect vantage point from which to observe the majority of the piazza's activity. The caller would see Shizuru coming, long before the former kaichou had a chance to devise an offensive maneuver. Moreover, even though the brunette's _associate_ was clearly educated enough on her identity for Shizuru to logically assume that the speaker knew what she looked like, the brunette herself was not even fully certain of the caller's gender (the voice had been purposefully androgynous, although, she highly suspected that it was female based on the speech patterns)—let alone, physical appearance. Everything considered, the former kaichou found herself in a very precarious position; had it not been for her training, she may have felt concern, rather than exhilaration.

You see, unlike the other Hime who had grown accustomed to the alien feel of their elements over time, Shizuru had already mastered her weapon long before the Carnival took place—even before she had stepped foot on Fuuka soil. Although the customs of the samurai had long become a seemingly dated part of the Japanese culture, the Fujino family (being a Kyoto clan descended from these noble warriors) maintained many of these customs even in the twenty-first century. Therefore, while the brunette had been educated in all of the traditional arts befitting a young woman of an aristocratic bloodline, such as tea ceremony and flower arrangement, her father had also deemed it necessary for her to learn another traditional art form: the art of war. From an early age, Shizuru had been rigorously trained in several varieties of martial arts, swordsmanship and—of course—naginatajutsu **(11)**. As a result, wielding her given element had posed no problems for the former kaichou. Even now as she stood amidst the noise of the Galleria, with no conceivable access to a weapon, Shizuru felt nothing more than a heightened sense of alertness. It was this very alertness that allowed her to hone in on a figure sitting amongst the patrons of the café. Said figure was dressed in an entirely white, double-breasted suit of Italian silk, and sported a matching fedora that was neatly pulled down over a pair of green-bottle sunglasses. Two things were apparent, even from the substantial distance at which the brunette stood from the focus of her scrutiny: one, the well-dressed individual was definitely female; and two, the woman had been studying Shizuru behind her innocuous shades for some time.

Cautiously, the former kaichou approached the stranger and moved to sit at an adjacent table, only to have the latter motion for the brunette to join her. Shizuru paused briefly, thus gaining a verbal cue from the other woman:

"I have no desire to kill you. It goes against my intentions entirely. Onegai, be seated."

"Forgive me for appearing rude," the former kaichou responded, her tone as light as frost on a window pane and just as cold, "but it is not everyday that an unknown person asks me to make an impromptu visit to another country while making ominous allusions to my lover." Then, with frigid sarcasm, "But, I suppose I am too quick to judge, ne?"

To Shizuru's surprise, her associate let loose a string of throaty chuckles—the kind of laughter that the brunette may have even thought attractive had the situation been different.

"You are exactly how I imagined you," the woman noted vaguely, ignoring the brunette's previous comment. Having composed herself, the enigmatic female waved a waiter over to their table and—in perfect Italian—ordered a cup of iced tea with lemon. Afterward, she gestured for Shizuru to order as well.

"No grazie **(12)**," the former kaichou replied to the server, who quickly took his leave.

"Ah, very well," the stranger remarked with what sounded like genuine disappointment, "perhaps I should get down to business. You left Japan in such haste. Tell me, Shizu-"

"Fujino-san," the brunette corrected—her voice civil, yet sharp.

Again, what appeared to be an authentic twinge of emotional distress flitted across the mysterious woman's features, "Tell me, _Fujino-san_, what did you tell Natsuki about your sudden departure?"

"I do not see how a conversation between her and I is any of your concern, and I suggest that you do me the service of calling my lover by her surname. You know nothing about her; you have not earned the right to refer to her with such… _familiarity_." The last word that came out of Shizuru's mouth was coated in venom.

"It is of every concern to me," the stranger snapped, her tone rising into a slightly higher octave before petering off into something strained—even desperate, "she is of every concern to me. As are you, Fujino-san."

"I told her," the former kaichou whispered, taken aback by the woman's apparent honesty, "that I was called away… on a business trip."

"Did she question you at all? Did she seem suspicious?"

"No."

"That is good," the stranger murmured, nodding solemnly. Their conversation was briefly interrupted by the return of the waiter with the woman's drink; she passed him a fleeting "grazie" before lighting on a seemingly unrelated topic, "There is an organization that masquerades as an American R & D corporation, that has various facilities all over the world. Mostly they specialize in the fields of both medicine and defense, but their true power lies in politics. For decades, this organization has been determining the leaders of the free world." A conspiratorial grin adorned the stranger's face before she added, "among other things."

"Searrs…" Shizuru breathed. All at once, the air did not contain enough oxygen for her to inhale correctly, and the brunette nearly choked. The woman obligingly passed Shizuru her drink, which the former kaichou (to her own astonishment) did not hesitate to accept. Once she had taken a few sips of the cooling liquid, Shizuru asked the one question that had been on the tip of her tongue ever since the anonymous phone call in her office the day before: "Who _are_ you?"

Her companion smiled then—a smile not unlike the one that she would give the brunette several months later at the prestigious Pudong Shangri-La Hotel **(13)** in Shanghai—and removed her tinted sunglasses. The former kaichou sat mesmerized as she regarded her reflection in a pair of crimson orbs closely resembling her own. After deliberately tucking her shades into the pocket of her suit jacket, the woman extracted a manila folder from a valise at her feet and placed it on the table with a certain reverence. The folder looked tattered, as though from frequent use and travel. A peeling label on the filing tab triggered a tiny flare of comprehension in the dark recesses of the brunette's mind—causing her to lift her eyes to the stranger in a wildly beseeching stare.

"Read this," Shizuru's associate insisted, nudging the folder toward the perplexed brunette. The former kaichou reached for the item, only to be stopped by the slight touch of a warm hand, "Not here." The stranger glanced at a nearby clock, and—to Shizuru's surprise—rose as though to leave (being sure to toss a few euros on the tabletop as payment for the iced tea).

"Matte **(14)**," the brunette demanded, catching her associate by the wrist, "you have told me nothing. Did you honestly just expect me to—"

"I expect you to read that file, Fujino-san. You may reach me at this number, when you have finished. Do not worry, I assure you that I intend for no harm to come to you or your lover" the woman replied, not giving Shizuru a chance to reprimand her further. As she spoke, she slipped a piece of paper into the brunette's palm—clasping their hands together for several seconds before pulling away. Even after letting Shizuru out of her grasp, though, the stranger lingered at her side for a moment. Finally, the woman softly murmured, "Ookini **(15)**."

For what, she did not say.

**Shanghai, China: Present Day**

"If my assumptions are correct, I believe that all of the necessary paperwork is there," Shizuru affirmed—blowing ripples across the surface of her tea, as her companion casually yet inconspicuously leafed through the contents of a slim, leather folder (similar in appearance to check presenters used at fine restaurants) that the older woman had recently given her.

"You gave me a name?" the younger girl noted; the statement was, if one jauntily raised eyebrow was of any indication, more of an amused observation than an actual inquiry.

"Ara, what else would you have me put on your driver's license and passport in its place? Stranger-san, perhaps?"

The former kaichou's associate chortled at the comment, and dotingly patted the older woman's shoulder.

"Hai, hai, but why _that_ name?"

"Do you not like it?" Shizuru asked, her eyes already becoming glossy with unshed tears—an effect that had taken her years to perfect.

"Ano **(16)**, it's not that," the younger girl started, her hand reflexively rubbing the back of her head in an unconscious gesture of contrition. The older woman yielded her taunt upon observing her associate; the image so like that of another awkward teenager forever vulnerable to Shizuru's idiosyncratic sense of humor. "I was just wondering…"

"My reasoning behind the surname is fairly obvious, do you not agree?" the elder of the two questioned—her voice suddenly devoid of sadness. Her companion sighed in feigned irritation, and nodded affirmatively in response to Shizuru's logic. "As for the first name," the lighter brunette continued, her expression growing thoughtful, "I find it rather… fitting."

This explanation seemed to please the younger girl, as the corner of her lips tugged upward into a lop-sided grin that caused a pang of yearning to lance through the former kaichou's heart (if only because that particular grin so resembled that of another).

"Ookini," the older woman's associate murmured appreciatively—the tone of her voice, as in their first meeting, lending far more significance to the word than one would normally expect. Shortly after her display of gratitude, however, the adolescent's face took on a rare timidity that only made its appearance when she was about to breach on one subject in particular. "Will she-I mean, do you think… do you think she'll, argh!" the girl growled in mild frustration before taking a concentrated interest in the surface of the tabletop, "do you think she'll like me?"

Shizuru gazed at her companion over the brim of her tea cup, which she had gingerly raised to her lips in anticipation of her next sip. All at once, the younger girl seemed small and vulnerable in spite of the leather racing jacket and crudely torn jeans that she wore. So much so that the older woman had to suppress the urge to embrace her; instead, she returned her cup to the table, and proceeded to brush her fingertips against those of her associate in a light reassuring caress.

"Hai, I believe she will."

Author's notes:

**(1)**- The owner is suspicious of Natsuki, even in spite of her uniform (the purpose of which is revealed later for those of you who read these notes as you peruse the chapter), because of Nao's comment concerning her possible inability to pay. He is suspicious of Nao because, well… she's Nao.

**(2)- **Ojou-san is a formal Japanese way of addressing a young lady.

**(3)-** Natsuki corrects herself here. She begins by saying domo, the colloquial Japanese version of 'Thank you'. However, realizing that she may have come off as rude, she switches to domo arigato—the more polite version of the same phrase.

**(4)- **The use of the term 'queer' here is meant to refer to homosexuality, but I did not intend for it to be offensive. Nao is just in denial, and her own self-loathing dictates that she use derogatory language.

**(5)- **Xièxiè is Mandarin Chinese for 'Thank you'.

**(6)- **Rou Gui is a type of oolong tea that has a rich cinnamon flavor.

**(7)- **Xiǎojiĕ is Mandarin Chinese for 'Young lady' or 'Miss'.

**(8)-** Qi Dan is a type of oolong tea that has a very sweet, almost fruity, flavor.

**(9)- **The Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II is a covered walkway—so to speak—that houses numerous retailers and restaurants.

**(10)- **A piazza is a large open space like a market square.

**(11)- **Naginatajutsu is the official name for the martial art that involves handling the naginata.

**(12)- **No grazie is Italian for 'No, thank you'.

**(13)- **The exact location of Shizuru and her companion in the previous section of this fic.

**(14)- **Matte is Japanese for 'Wait'.

**(15)- **I often assume that most people know this, but—just in case—ookini is Kyoto-ben (a Japanese dialect) for 'Thank you'.

**(16)- **Ano is the Japanese equivalent of saying 'Uh' or 'Um' in English.

Additional comments:

Wow… a year. That is how long it has taken me to update this story. *Sigh* Gomen to all of my loyal readers, but I am afraid that the long delay could not be helped. I intend to update again soon, possibly before New Years, but I will not make any promises. This chapter is not particularly thrilling, but it _is_ necessary. Moreover, I think it is probably my most cohesive chapter, so far. If this assertion seems strange to you, then carefully consider the title and the content of the chapter as a whole. I hope that my readers enjoyed it, and will feel compelled to review my work (I notice that despite numerous subscriptions to this story, very few people actually leave comments—trust me, they are appreciated). Ookini for reading, and happy holidays.

P.S. I am not one to take a beta. At least, not lightly. So, this story has not been edited by anyone other than myself. If you have any criticisms for me or if you find any grammatical errors, please feel free to let me know (by review or PM).


	5. Chapter 4: Tenderness

Disclaimer: Mai-Hime is the property of Sunrise and Bandai.

Warning: This story contains graphic violence, sex and coarse language. If you are uncomfortable with any of these, please refrain from reading.

Chapter 4: Tenderness

**Japan Airlines International flight to Osaka, Japan: 1 day after Shanghai (1)**

The anger nearly blinded her—a pulsing, throbbing clot of blood at the back of her eyes. It burned. Tears simmered at the outskirts of her vision. They wanted to spill over; they wanted to relieve that terrible burning. And she would have allowed it, had the tears been hers to control. But as they were not, the cooling sensation of saline rivulets making tracks across her heated cheeks never came. Through the uncomfortable blur, she could see what appeared to be a wall of pink. No, not solid pink. She squinted her eyes in an effort to focus. Flowers. Yes, hundreds and hundreds of lovely flowers in the peek of their bloom, bobbing their heads in the light breeze. Her gaze dropped to one blossom in particular, but not to admire its beauty. On the contrary, she felt nothing but rage; and that rage called for a sacrifice. She extended her delicate, ivory fingers as though to pluck the flower from the home it shared with its brethren, only to curve them at the last moment—forming her hand (which, from the looks of it, should have been palming a ball in gym class or penning love confessions like those of her classmates) into a menacing claw. However, before she could crush the innocent bloom and feel its fragile pedals turn to ribbons of shredded silk in her grasp, a voice made her pause.

"You shouldn't do that," the dulcet tones remarked, somehow sounding both insistent and cajoling, "beautiful flowers are meant to be loved, since they are doing their best to bloom during their short lives."

Heat infused her face as she whirled around to confront the voice. She wanted to hate the person who had replaced her domestic fury with foreign shame. Yet, the scene that she was presented with upon turning left her utterly speechless. In the midst of cherry blossoms descending like snowflakes stood a girl of understated elegance. Even though she was clearly young, the brunette's face suggested that she would only grow more and more enchanting with age. Suddenly, for a reason she couldn't readily identify, she felt exposed. Even more disconcerting, this exposure was not entirely unpleasant. Some fundamental part of her was drawn to this girl, lured by her gentle voice and soft expression, but another part of her—the part that had been carefully constructed in the wake of every bad occurrence in her life—was compelled to turn on the brunette like a cornered stray.

"Who are you?" she barked.

The girl only smiled warmly in response to her icy severity, "My name is Fujino Shizuru."

She surfaced then, eyes flying open and lungs inhaling sharply like those of a diver emerging from the water of a swimming pool. The tinny blare of "Shock the Monkey" **(2) **registered in her mind, and she dimly realized that she had dozed off with the buds of her mp3 player still nestled snuggly in her ears. Her anticipated headache had lessened, but not enough to prevent her from grazing her thumb and forefinger over her eyelids in mild irritation. Reaching into the pocket of her leather jacket, she removed a single-serving packet of aspirin and tore it open—dry-swallowing the contents. Easing back into the plush seat afforded to all first-class passengers, she attempted to distract herself from the dull ache within her skull by closing her eyes and concentrating on the next song (Duran Duran's "Come Undone" **(3)**). The pain had just begun to dissipate when a gentle prodding at her elbow demanded that she shift her attention to a sheepish flight attendant who was flanking her awkwardly.

"Sumimasen **(4)**," the stewardess murmured diffidently, "the passenger a few seats down specifically requested that I bring you this with her regards." A glass of ice water was placed on the faux-wood platform adjacent her seat with a note slipped clumsily underneath, as the attendant indicated the general direction of the bestower with a turn of her head.

"Ah, ookini," she replied, beaming at the shy stewardess who bowed and flushed sweetly in response to the disarmingly pleased gaze. _What eyes…_the attendant sighed to herself as she returned to her duties. Once the crew member left, she lifted the beverage to her lips and drank nonchalantly—slipping the note into her hand and deftly unfolding it as she did so. Graceful, precise kanji greeted her as she opened the loosely creased paper:

_You should really take those with water. It's much easier._

She smiled in amusement, and stowed the note away in the back pocket of her cargo pants. Taking another sip from her drink, she glanced toward her benefactor who was openly trying to make eye contact with her (an observation that elicited an inward chuckle from the observer). In the same way that a wine connoisseur might inspect a fine vintage of Bordeaux, she studied the other female passenger with interest. Judging from her attire—a tastefully-cut indigo blouse with spaghetti straps that showed off a generous, but not too generous, portion of her flawless back and a pair of khaki slacks—the woman appeared to be either an undergraduate or graduate student in her early twenties. Her jet-black hair was cut in an attractive fringed bob that framed her face nicely and created an ideal setting for her dusky cobalt eyes. Deciding that the little staring competition that they had going was not nearly satisfying enough, she beckoned the young lady over to the unoccupied seat directly in front of her own. The other woman made a show of nibbling her lower lip in hesitation before scurrying up the isle and settling into the empty seat, excitement glowing in her eyes like a small child who has sneaked out of bed after lights out.

"Uh, konnichiwa… um, let me think," the girl started, clearly unskilled in the language given her poor pronunciation, "watashi no namae wa Denise **(5)**." After making a distinctly pathetic attempt at an introduction, the black-haired woman moved to shake her hand only to think better of it and dip her head in an improvised bow.

Her eyes sparkled at the hilarity of the situation until she decided to take mercy on the girl: "It is a pleasure to meet you, Denise." The phrase was uttered in flawless English.

"Argh, you're not even Japanese and you just totally let me humiliate myself?!"

"For the record, I am Japanese," she replied, smirking impishly, "and, I felt it would be far more entertaining if I just allowed you to continue. Don't tell me, you had the stewardess write the note for you?"

"Well," the girl mumbled in evident embarrassment, "I only know how to speak Japanese." Then, after an incredulous look from her companion, "and apparently, I'm not very good at that either."

"Why would someone of your considerable linguistic abilities," she began, only to receive an indignant scowl contrasted by a good-natured smirk from the black-haired woman, "want to visit Osaka?"

"I have a friend who lives there. He teaches English at a local high school, and he promised to show me around while I was in town."

"Boyfriend?" she asked, before finishing off the ice water—her intense burgundy eyes never leaving the steel-blue ones of her associate, even as she drank deeply.

"No," Denise responded, obviously delighted by the question, "not my boyfriend."

"Is there one?" she inquired, leaning ever-so-slightly toward the other girl, "a boyfriend?"

"No," the black-haired woman answered, her voice—unknowingly—dropping to a low hush to match that of her companion.

There was no verbal reaction to Denise's reply. Just an evocative smile.

**13 minutes later**

The girl tasted like artificial winter: cool, crisp and synthetically fresh. She absently concluded that the black-haired woman must have been eating mints—possibly chewing gum—before they met. Although the flavor did not especially appeal to her, she still enjoyed Denise's mouth pressed urgently against her own. Of course, the heated swell of the girl's breast in her hand was no less gratifying. Clasping the aforementioned mound in a rough caress from within the woman's blouse, she pushed Denise more firmly onto her lap, earning her a fervent whimper for her trouble. She found that sitting in the airplane's restroom stall, atop the covered toilet bowl, was the most sensible and effective way to go about their incredibly risky enterprise. They had been discreet, yes, but if they happened to make too much noise in an effort to better situate themselves in what could only be described as a claustrophobic's worst nightmare, there was a high probability that they would be caught—and that simply would not do. In spite of the fact that Denise was becoming increasingly more vocal, she couldn't help but tear her lips away from those of her companion in order to squeeze in just the slightest tease.

"So," she grinned ruefully, meeting the hooded stare of the mildly bewildered black-haired girl, "do you do this often?"

All confusion bled from Denise's eyes as the jest hit home, and her lips trembled in barely-repressed mirth; nestling into her companion's neck in order to muffle her laughter, the woman whispered, "Only when I get a mark as good looking as you."

The phrase was said in perfect Japanese, just as Denise thrust a needle into the side of her neck.

"How clever," she murmured, a melancholy grin never leaving her face. With one sweep of her free hand (the other lay dormant inside the girl's shirt) she broke the needle from its barrel, leaving a piece of the metal tip lodged in the flesh of her throat. Then—the black-haired woman still straddling her thighs—she caught the syringe before it had a chance to hit the floor. She eyed the contents of the needle with a detachment that the girl atop her lap found increasingly disturbing. "Don't tell me, it's a nerve toxin meant to simulate a brain aneurism?" Her associate swallowed thickly, while stealing wary glances at the syringe. "No need to answer, I'll find out in a moment," she added, before jabbing the remainder of the needle into the woman's neck and injecting the vile fluid into her system.

The toxin worked quickly. In a few moments, the girl went taught in her grasp, and she drew the quivering body into a comforting embrace as it suffered death's final throes. When the black-haired woman slumped against her limply, she eased out from under the cadaver and placed it in a fairly believable position: heaped against the wall of the bathroom like a life-sized rag doll. She did a quick once-over of the stall and her appearance—being sure to pluck the sharp fragment of the syringe from her, otherwise, unblemished flesh—prior to pocketing both halves of the needle in her jacket. After scanning the restroom one last time, she moved to open the door. Indecision stilled her hand until she turned toward the body and, with a gentle pressure that bordered on tenderness, slipped the eyelids closed. Satisfied, she exited the stall during a lull in cabin movement, and returned to her seat. Once the buds of her mp3 player had been securely nudged back into location, she resumed the Duran Duran song. A second aspirin packet was torn open, and its contents consumed. Unlike the first two, these tablets left a bitter medicinal taste on her tongue.

Suddenly, she found herself wishing for another glass of water.

**JR Station (6) in Fuuka, Japan: 5 days after Shanghai**

The apple does not fall far from the tree. People say that sometimes about parents and their children—implying that offspring somehow resemble their mothers and fathers, either physically or (as is typically the case with that particular turn-of-phrase) mentally. So, what did that say exactly about the relationship between Hime and Child? Were they alike in some unfathomable way? Was that, perhaps, why a specific Hime was singled out by a certain Child? Nao wasn't sure. Her own Child, Julia, did not appear to take issue with the red-head's morally-ambiguous behavior during the Carnival. Perhaps there was more to Julia's acceptance than mere servitude. Maybe she even approved. Casting a side-long glance at her raven-haired companion, the red-head couldn't help but think that if a Child was—somehow—a product of not only a Hime's love for her most important person, but a manifestation of her inner-most self, then Duran was perfect for Natsuki.

Once again, the biker was clad in her work attire. Although, on this occasion, her uniform was in obvious disarray. The bottom half of her button-up shirt had worked itself free on her left side. Her collar was not fully closed, but her tie remained knotted despite its having been drawn down about an inch or so. She had thrown her jacket on haphazardly, thereby causing the lapels to fly upward and frame the lily-white skin of her slightly exposed neck. By her eager back-and-forth pacing, though, it was quite apparent that the disheveled state of her person was of little concern. Nao watched silently as Natsuki's fervent emerald eyes raked over the crowd—completely indifferent to the eyes that raked over her. Some innocently curious. Others curious, but not so innocently. The red-head, alone, knew for whom the raven-haired beauty searched. Natsuki stopped mid-step. Her mouth widened into the beginnings of a grin, and her eyes brightened like verdant cinders.

"Shi-" Natsuki gasped. The last half of the name she longed to say died in her throat when she appeared to realize that the person she had observed was not her lover. Nao could practically see a crestfallen set of ears and a down-cast tail sprout from the biker's body as she sighed dejectedly. It would have been cute, had the raven-haired girl not seemed so terribly lost. _Like a wolf without its mate_, the red-head thought—depression hitting her in an unexpected wave that nearly made her reel. _Why the hell am I here, again?_ Of course, she knew why. Because Natsuki had wanted someone to be there. To wait with her, the biker had said. Nao knew the score. It would look less suspicious if two women met Shizuru at the gate. She rolled her eyes at the raven-haired beauty, who had resumed her pacing. _Even with me here, she's way too obvious._ Nao slumped back against the concrete pillar supporting her weight and massaged her temple with one hand to relieve some of the nagging light-headedness that still lingered from earlier. _Kami _**(7)**_, I want to get the hell out of this shit-hole._ She could have made a snide remark about the quality of Natsuki's company, but she knew that the biker was far too absorbed in her current mission to really care. _She's got goals, you've got to give her that._

"Natsuki!" an all-too-familiar brunette called from just a few yards away.

"-zuru" the raven-haired girl murmured, as though she had been holding the remainder of the name in with her breath. Natsuki made a beeline for the Kyoto woman—stopping just short of invading Shizuru's personal space. Even though she had only gone a few steps to reach the brunette, the biker inhaled raggedly. "May I…I mean, let me take your bags." The obsidian beauty's hand trembled a little as she reached for the luggage.

"Ookini," Shizuru replied gently, allowing Natsuki's fingertips to graze her own for a few moments as she passed her the bags. Nao rubbed her temple a bit more vigorously; a minor twitch had developed in her eye on that side. _Jesus, if Kuga started calling Fujino "Onee-sama _**(8)**_", this would be a scene straight out of a shoujo-ai manga. How do people NOT know they're gay?_ "Ara… Yuuki-san. What a pleasant surprise."

"Save your sweet talk for the pup, Fujino," the red-head muttered, as she began apathetically grating her nails on a file that she had withdrawn from her denim jacket.

"Always a joy," the brunette stated coolly—unfazed by the surly greeting.

"Baka!" Natsuki growled at an impassive Nao, "keep your voice down!"

The red-head lifted an eyebrow at her friend before adding, "Because…the hoards of strangers really get who I mean when I say 'pup'. Yea, you're right, huge danger." Then, with a devious smirk, "Of course, your little outburst probably gave some of them a clue." Melodious laughter caught Nao's attention, and she turned to find Shizuru giggling lightly at her lover's furiously blushing face. The sight of the Kyoto woman wearing an expression of true happiness momentarily stunned the red-head into a state of unwitting reverence.

"Yuuki-san?" Shizuru asked—her gaze questioning.

"U-un **(9)**?" Nao faltered; she realized, with some horror, that she had been staring long enough to become a subject of interest for both females. _What the hell am I doing?_

"Oi, has that sponge you call a brain **(10)** finally gotten so waterlogged that you can't hear?" Natsuki jeered, while giving her friend a playful flick on the forehead. "Do you need a ride or what?"

"I'm fine," the red-head snapped, as she turned abruptly to hide the rash of pink that was rapidly spreading across her cheeks. Then, in an attempt to dilute her own embarrassment by slipping it to another, she added, "Besides, I know how much puppy has been looking forward to _playtime_ with her master."

The suggestive remark quickly sent the raven-haired beauty into a fit of stuttered obscenities—none of which made sense in her severely flustered state. Nao welcomed the cursing as it successfully diffused much of her previous mortification. She could already feel the heady warmth in her face subsiding.

"Ara, Yuuki-san is more than welcome to join us."

Her back went ramrod straight as a barrage of images provided the red-head with a _vivid_ illustration of what Shizuru's statement may have implied. Nao could feel a scorching heat creep up the sides of her neck and lick at her ears as she shot the brunette a withering glance, only to be faced with an expression of nearly angelic virtue.

"Nani?" the red-head inquired, as though her understanding of the former kaichou's invitation wasn't completely transparent.

"On the drive back, of course. We can drop Yuuki-san off at her dorm, ne?"

"Sou…da **(11)**," Nao murmured. She searched the dark vermillion of Shizuru's eyes for glints of amusement, but found nothing. _Jesus, I'm spending way too much time with Kuga. Her biker dyke hormones are short-circuiting my brain._ "I've got… something to do, I'll take the bus."

Natsuki easily shrugged off the refusal with a characteristically brusque "Ja ne", and proceeded toward the older woman's vehicle. The brunette lingered.

"Perhaps we-" Shizuru began.

"I can manage," the red-head replied—the sharpened edge of her tone, cutting the former kaichou off mid-sentence. She hadn't meant to be so short with the Kyoto girl, but she found that every second that she spent in Shizuru's presence only filled her with an irresistible urge to flee. _Old habits die hard_, the younger female bitterly mused.

"Very well," the brunette conceded, as she inclined her tawny head in a parting bow, "ki o tsukete **(12)**, Yuuki-san."

**27 minutes later**

The drive home had been excruciating for the raven-haired girl. Her hands gripped the steering wheel as though it were a life-preserver—keeping her grounded to this reality and not to the reality where she pulled her lover's Mazda coupé into some dark alley or underground parking lot and threw herself at the brunette. Natsuki liked that reality. In that beautiful existence, she greeted the older girl with a warm embrace when she left the train. She pulled her into a deep kiss that made her lover seize the creaking leather of her uniform jacket and shakily gasp "Ara" as the younger woman pulled away. She tenderly held the Kyoto beauty's hand as they passed through the parking lot of the station and only let go when they ducked into Shizuru's car. She had wanted to do all of those things, and now that Natsuki was setting down the brunette's luggage in the wonderfully accepting confines of their bedroom, she finally could. Yet instead of fulfilling the fantasy that had endlessly looped through her mind on their way back to the apartment, she simply stood in front of Shizuru like a pathetic teenager with a crush—her mouth dry and her face hot with blood.

"Natsuki is quite the gentleman for carrying my bags all this way. I believe that she has earned a reward, ne?" the Kyoto woman lightly joked. It was quite obvious that the 'gentleman' reference was meant to get a rise out of her anxious lover. However, rather than jump to defend her honor as a member of the female gender, the biker merely continued to gaze fixedly at the older woman as though it were the raven-haired girl's first time seeing her. "Natsuki? Puppy, is something wrong?" Shizuru finally murmured, drawing close to her companion and cupping her heated face in concern.

"G-gomen, Shizuru," the biker replied, shivering at the pleasing sensation of her lover's soft palms against her cheeks, "I, I just wanted to look at you… for a minute." _Tell her, _insisted the voice within Natsuki's head. _Tell her, you baka!_

"Natsuki is too sweet," the brunette sighed happily, resting her forehead against that of the younger girl. Shizuru's adoring praise made the biker's heart constrict in a sharp spasm of self-contempt, and she clutched at the fabric over her chest.

"Shizuru…" Natsuki whispered, her voice hoarse with frustration and regret. Words of longing and affection clawed at the raven-haired beauty's throat—desperately trying to tear their way out. _Tell her you missed her. _"Shizuru, I-" The words…the emotion of those words, strangled her with their violent efforts to break free. _Tell her how much you love her._

**3 years and 2 months earlier (13)**

The sweet smell of searing meat and the dull thunk of a chef's knife biting through raw vegetables into a carving board filled the air of Natsuki's apartment; however, the owner of said apartment was not the cause. No, Kuga Natsuki herself sat seiza—albeit, rather inelegantly—on a make-shift zabuton that she had fashioned by folding one of her pillows in half on the parquet floor. Normally, she wouldn't have suffered such discomfort, but she felt that it was the least that she could do for the person who was the cause of all the inviting scents and sounds emanating from Natsuki's kitchen.

"Ano, Shizuru…" the biker futilely called to the chestnut and beige blur that was currently hustling around her electric range in a decidedly (to Natsuki's chagrin) wifely manner.

"Hai, Natsuki" the blur replied, temporarily materializing into Fujino Shizuru in order to peak around the kitchen door at the younger girl.

"You really don't need to cook for me."

This comment earned the raven-haired beauty a gentle, yet determined, reaction from the brunette: "Ara, Natsuki is such a sweet child. But, I am afraid that she was forced to eat far too much instant ramen during my absence, and I feel the need to make it up to her."

Over the winter break, Shizuru had left Fuuka for the entire month-long duration in order to visit her parents in Kyoto. A whole month. Since knowing the older girl, the biker had never experienced such a long period of time without her presence. Before Natsuki had realized it, the brunette had become a fixture in her turbulent life—coming over to help her catch up on work that the middle school student's truancy had unwittingly caused her to accumulate, cleaning her disaster area of an apartment, and preparing meals for her from scratch. All of these things vanished when Shizuru did. Of course, the raven-haired girl did not place much importance on assignments, neatness or home-cooked food. To Natsuki, these things were luxuries that her perilous lifestyle just couldn't afford. These things didn't matter. Yet, after the older girl had gone, her apartment had become… cold. Empty. Inhospitable. First District remained strangely inactive at that time, thereby depriving the biker of a much-needed distraction. As a result, Natsuki wound up spending the majority of her daylight hours during the break aimlessly roaming the streets in an attempt to find solace in the steady pounding of tires over asphalt and the rhythmic hum of an electric heartbeat. At night, when she was forced to return to a home that no longer felt like home, she lay in bed and gazed at the blank emotionless screen of her cellular phone—waiting for a certain Kyoto beauty's name to appear.

When it did, the younger girl never ceased to feel a hot giddy lump of relief form in her chest. She had wanted to say so much in those moments. She had wanted to tell the brunette how barren her apartment seemed without the dulcet tones of a softly accented voice lilting her name. She had wanted to tell the brunette how many tanks of gas she had wasted trying to outrun the crushing loneliness she had felt in place of familiar warmth. She had wanted to tell the brunette how badly she had missed her. But she hadn't.

"Hamburgers. Natsuki's favorite," Shizuru announced, as she presented the younger girl with a steaming dish.

"Shizuru," the raven-haired girl began, her fingers forming tightly-clenched knots in her lap. _Why do you do so much for me?_

"Ah, I forgot the mayonnaise **(14)**," the Kyoto beauty noted, rising from her position across from the raven-haired girl, "kanin na, Natsuki, I'll-"

"Matte," the biker interrupted a bit too roughly—her knuckles turning white. _Why do you care so much?_

"Natsuki?" Shizuru whispered, a bit taken aback by whatever nebulous feeling was contained in the younger girl's tone.

"Why…" Natsuki murmured, "why do you spend time with me?" _What do you see in me?_ "It can't possibly be enjoyable." _I am a terrible person who can't even tell her friend that she…_

"I made it clear before, did I not?" the older girl inquired, as her face beamed in amusement. The biker tilted her head to the side—completely adorable in her state of utter confusion.

"Before?"

The hilarity in Shizuru's eyes shifted into a different emotion—one that lingered just beyond the realm of the younger girl's comprehension—as she made her reply: "It is because I love Natsuki."

**Present day**

Helplessness pervaded the raven-haired woman's body; the overwhelming sensation caused her head to slump downward and her arms to hang limply at her sides. Every endearment that died on Natsuki's lips made every breath she took afterward cut into her like shards of broken glass. The sweet smell of ocher tresses held a tempting promise of comforting security, and she suddenly found herself pressing the Kyoto beauty against their bedroom door as she buried her face into the crook of her lover's neck—inhaling deeply like one addicted. Shizuru gasped in surprise, but quickly collected herself enough to stroke the sleek dark scalp of her companion. The younger girl shuddered and retreated even further into the calming scent; she wanted nothing more than to bask in this fragrance, this warmth, this person, for the rest of her life. Yet knowing this in complete certainty only caused the biker further distress. In her tortured mind, the inability to voice her feelings made Natsuki no better than the emotionally-impotent child that she had been only a few years ago.

"Suki **(15)**?" Shizuru whispered—using her affectionate abbreviation of the other's name in an attempt to soothe away whatever had caused the raven-haired beauty to fall silent. When no response was forthcoming, the older woman drew Natsuki from her body and gently urged her face upward. Despite the biker's ineloquence, her reddened cheeks, quivering lips and teary eyes clearly communicated her longing to the brunette, whose breathing rapidly became labored from the pleasant vertigo brought on by her lover's expression. "Oh…" Shizuru murmured—she, too, having found herself at a loss for words as she made her descent toward the wanting mouth of the younger girl.

Instead of sealing their lips together immediately, the older woman rested her open mouth against that of Natsuki and gently traced the inner softness of the biker's upper lip with the tip of her moist tongue. Afterward, Shizuru repeated this action on her lover's lower lip. Just as the brunette moved to observe the raven-haired beauty's—no doubt—lovely reaction to her tender treatment, Natsuki stunned her by forcing Shizuru back up against the door and engaging her in a hungry kiss. When the biker released her to take in several gulps of much-needed oxygen, a low needy groan escaped the older girl's throat. This unbidden evidence of her arousal caused the former kaichou to color in mild embarrassment; Shizuru hated to admit it, but the idea of being dominated by her normally submissive lover was an enormous turn-on.

Natsuki, reassured by the noise of approval, lavished the heated flesh of the brunette's neck in deep kisses and gentle love bites. Then, as though she were following the blush as it journeyed toward her lover's breasts, the raven-haired beauty stripped off the older woman's grey cardigan and began removing her pink blouse. After several frantic attempts to work the buttons, Natsuki's growing impatience got the best of her—firmly grasping both sides of the partially opened garment, she swiftly ripped the damnable piece of clothing from Shizuru's heaving chest. An appreciative growl slipped past the biker's lips as she eyed the red satin bra that had just been revealed to her. Of course, Natsuki was no-less mindful of what the delicate piece of lingerie concealed. The sound of the former kaichou gently clearing her throat interrupted the younger girl's lusty appraisal. Her eyes shot up to meet those of her lover—only to find one of the brunette's well-shaped brows gingerly raised in cheerful reprimand.

"I'll buy you a new one," the raven-haired beauty stated curtly as she gave the older woman a playful grin.

"Carry on," Shizuru replied. In an exaggerated demonstration of acceptance, the brunette closed her eyes and let her hands fall laxly from Natsuki's shoulders.

Smiling ruefully, the biker ignored her girlfriend's breasts—which, she noticed with some amusement, had been subconsciously arched toward her—and focused entirely on the other woman's lower body. The younger girl dropped to her knees and proceeded to unzip the former kaichou's skirt. Once this task had been accomplished, Natsuki gave the garment a fierce tug and watched it pool suggestively at her lover's feet. Smooth crimson panties did not go undetected by the biker, nor did the enticingly erotic patch of moist satin that radiated Shizuru's natural warmth and smell. Realizing how close she was drifting to that very intimate piece of clothing, Natsuki flushed and peered up at the brunette. Her gaze landed on a pair of lidded ruby eyes and swollen parted lips that caused the younger girl to swallow thickly in evident desire. While maintaining eye-contact with her lover, the raven-haired beauty leaned forward and pressed an open-mouth kiss to the saturated area of Shizuru's panties—being sure to apply a small amount of tantalizing pressure to the engorged flesh underneath. Said action earned her a stifled moan.

Natsuki's triumph, however, was short-lived. The furred lapels of her uniform jacket were gripped tightly by eager hands and effectively used to hoist the biker into a standing position. Once the garment had served the Kyoto woman's purpose, she wasted no time in discarding it in order to gain access to the rest of her lover's apparel. Nimble fingers made quick work of the younger girl's partially knotted tie, and button-up shirt (a skill that never ceased to irk the raven-haired beauty, given her own incompetence in this area). After deciding that the white uniform top looked decidedly better open, Shizuru drew Natsuki into a demanding kiss with an authoritative yank on her lover's utility belt. The biker melted in the combined heat of the brunette's mouth and fingertips, which had taken to brushing against the sensitive muscles of her toned abdomen—causing them to writhe and dance. Acting on impulse, one of the younger girl's calloused hands crept under the taut satin of Shizuru's bra and fondled the stiff peak of a generous mound, while the other burrowed its way into the slick confines of crimson panties. The Kyoto beauty, also driven solely by the instinctive need to please her lover and be pleased in turn, frantically unbuttoned the biker's slacks and slipped beneath the silk barrier she found there.

As the brunette's deft fingertips made their first contact with Natsuki's wet pulsating sex, the raven-haired woman found herself consumed by a familiar mixture of yearning and shame. Years of living a solitary life of revenge left a gaping chasm in the younger girl's psyche; a chasm that Shizuru had attempted to fill with the tender affections that she had long sheltered for Natsuki in the deepest recesses of her heart. However, what the former kaichou could not possibly foresee was that all of her love and devotion only succeeded in turning this yawning abyss into a black hole—an all-consuming vortex that gnawed away on the biker's fear and insecurity when the older woman was not present to sate its hunger. This emotional avarice translated itself easily into physical need, and often left Natsuki powerless to stop her greedy core from ravenously feeding on her lover's touch. Shizuru always insisted that nothing gave her greater pleasure than to watch in quiet satisfaction as the raven-haired beauty ground herself into a panting blissful stupor against her palm.

To the younger girl, though, this was simply not acceptable. Even as her hips pleaded for the brunette's entry, the biker sought to gain an advantage by thrusting two fingers directly into her lover's needy center. Shizuru greeted this roughness with a little of her own—wrenching the raven-haired woman's shirt from her back and tugging her black silk bra free from its residence without even bothering to undo the clasp. The Kyoto beauty tossed the offending article aside, rather unceremoniously, before cupping one perfectly shaped swell. The pad of her thumb deliberately circled the biker's painfully erect nipple for what seemed like an eternity, before ghosting over its surface and flicking it gently. All the while, the brunette's other hand—which had been busy teasing deliciously moist folds—settled on vigorously rubbing Natsuki's aching clit.

Blinking away a nearly blinding wave of pleasure, the younger girl relinquished her hold on Shizuru's breast, only to lift the other woman's leg at the knee and plunge herself further into the soft decadence of her lover's core. The former kaichou, feeling the ember deep within herself begin to spark and flare with the ministrations of the raven-haired beauty, clawed futilely at their bedroom door with the neatly trimmed nails of her free hand while keeping the other nestled comfortably in the biker's panties. A pathetic cry meant to be the name of the younger girl tore from Shizuru's mouth, as the ember ignited into white-hot rapture at the apex of her thighs and rapidly spread. The raven-haired woman came nearly at the same moment—lured by the heat raging just beneath her lover's skin. Instead of releasing Shizuru once the inferno had passed, Natsuki pulled the older girl against her chest in a feeble embrace.

"Ara… being affectionate again so soon? My Natsuki must have missed me," the Kyoto beauty teased in a gentle purr. The biker stiffened momentarily before clutching the other woman in a stronger hold. Enjoying the sensation of being tenderly squeezed by the raven-haired girl, the brunette thought nothing of the action.

"When…when do you have to leave, again?" Natsuki whispered earnestly, as she grazed her lover's temple with still-trembling lips. _I always do._

"Otou-san **(16)** does not have any other foreign business for me to attend to at this time. However," the former kaichou paused for a moment, "I may need to work late a few nights this coming week." If it had been anyone other than Shizuru, the younger woman may have interpreted the pause as a sign of hesitancy. But this _was_ Shizuru. And Shizuru was not one to hesitate. "Why does Natsuki ask?"

"Nandemonai **(17)**," the biker replied even as her fingers anxiously curled into the older girl's shoulders. _I always miss you, Shizuru._

**6 hours later**

Nao usually steered clear of Tsukimori **(18)**. In fact, she had steered clear of it ever since her Hime mark had faded and her element had refused to materialize. Oh yes, after the Carnival had ended, the red-head had tried many times—in the forgiving darkness of her bedroom—to recall the metal claws that had transformed her pitiful hands into glittering weapons. Yet, the reassuring presence of sharpened steel would not return. Perhaps she was a terrible person for even trying, but she couldn't help it. She missed her powers. She missed her Child. She missed the days when she could look down on some back-alley predator and catch a fleeting glimpse of vindication. More than anything, though, she missed not being weak. It was this very weakness that dissuaded her from returning to Tsukimori with horrific images of perverts seeking revenge for offenses committed against them by her former self. Despite every ounce of pride that coursed through her veins, Nao was not so reckless as to sacrifice her well-being for the sake of her ego.

Tonight, though, she decided to be reckless. It had been years. Surely, no one would recognize the red-head now that she had traded in a lacking prepubescent body for a far more alluring teenage skin—a skin that was currently getting her considerable play from a very intoxicated young man at the club. Nao didn't mind the attention; she wasn't foolish enough to turn down a shot at hassle-free alcohol and a benevolent wallet. The gentleman had soft, slightly feminine features that made his age difficult to determine. He obviously attempted to compensate for this detriment to his image by growing a thin layer of scruffy facial hair that did not particularly suit him. After suffering through a few hours of terribly boring small talk, which was frequently punctuated by the drooling pathetic come-ons of her companion, the red-head suggested that they make their way to a more _private_ area. Beaming with pleasure, the fellow suggested the women's lavatory due to its close proximity and relative seclusion (a hand-written sign regretted to inform female patrons that faulty plumbing necessitated that the restroom be closed for repairs). Nao didn't complain. Besides, she was still quite drunk, and—pathetic attempt at a goatee aside—the guy was moderately attractive. At any rate, he didn't seem like the type to get pissy if (the 'if' being more indicative of an inevitability than a possibility) she chose to hit the brakes.

The heavy aroma of raw sewage, poorly concealed by the acidic tang of lemon floor sanitizer, invaded the red-head's nostrils as she addressed her associate who hung back to make sure that no one happened to see them entering the defunct lavatory:

"They weren't kidding about the plumbing. Jesus, it smells like something choked to death on bathroom cleaner in here."

"You shouldn't speak so crudely," the gentleman remarked in evident distaste.

"Why not?" Nao retorted. _I'm not the one who gets turned on by the idea of fooling around near a fucking toilet_, she inwardly added—rolling her eyes at the man's pretense. A pretense that involuntarily brought to mind the constant griping of a certain raven-haired beauty.

"Girls in high school shouldn't curse."

"Who said I was in high school?" the red-head asked tensely as she turned to face her companion. Nao's overall attitude and mannerisms generally led people to believe that she was older; a fact of which she was quite aware.

"You told me you were a third year **(19)** in middle school…ah, when was that?" the man pondered aloud—screwing up his face in exaggerated rumination, "I would say, two years ago. Does that sound about right to you…Juliet-chan **(20)**?"

"Kuso **(21)**…" the red-head hissed under her breath. All of a sudden, the inherent danger of her position became acutely apparent. They were alone. No one would come as a result of the note on the door. No one would be able to hear her scream due to volume of the in-house music. Shizuru's final words at the train station sprang to the forefront of her mind, and the irony almost made her laugh. Almost.

"I was so fortunate to see you again, after all this time," her associate mused while he grasped her chin in a commanding hold. Nao lifted an arm to bat away the offending limb—only to have her wrist securely pinned against her back by the gentleman's opposite hand. "You are even cuter than I remember…"

"Fuck off," the red-head snarled, before slamming her knee into his groin. A plaintive sound (something between a groan and a whimper) left the man in an abrupt exhale as he staggered forward. She was nearly at the door when strong fingers latched onto her coat and jerked her backward into the solid edge of a sink basin. A sharp cry ripped from her throat as her spine struck the thick porcelain.

"What's the matter, no blade on you this time? No friend hiding in the shadows?" the gentleman taunted as he spun her around, and bent her over the faucet. His voice had become a high—almost hysterical—whine. A perverse brand of nostalgia caused hot tears to course down the sides of Nao's face and into the sink.

"Well… not a friend, per say," a female voice declared from directly behind the red-head and her assailant; in Nao's mind, the dark richness of that voice conjured up reassuring images of defiant sage eyes shrouded by broody midnight tresses. However, that reassurance quickly turned to gall when the man's body, which was currently restraining her against the wash basin, turned rigid upon realizing that he and his _date_ were not as alone as he would've preferred. _Of course it isn't her_, the ex-Hime silently growled—berating herself for even entertaining the previous notion, _she's at home… right now… with Fujino._ Her silent weeping started again with renewed vigor. _Damn it all._ "More so…" the mysterious woman began, "an interested bystander."

A moment later, Nao felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from her back, and not in the metaphorical sense. The inebriated abandon that had formerly dominated the red-head's consciousness had dissipated—being replaced with a kind of fuzzy opaque exhaustion. The light beating that she had endured earlier hadn't helped matters. With the unexpected release from her captor, Nao collapsed into a clumsy kneel at the foot of the sink. She vaguely noted the rambling shuffle of heavy footsteps and the dull metallic squeak of a stall door swinging shut, but the noises seemed muted and far away. In her current mental state, the red-head could only really process the throbbing pain that radiated from her kneecaps as a result of their abrupt contact with the tile floor and the cooling presence of porcelain against her heated forehead. These were the only sensations that mattered in her shattered universe. Just as the ex-Hime began to slip into the pleasing numbness of sleep, gentle hands lifted her effortlessly—cradling her battered and weakened form against a strong, yet yielding, feminine body. _Mm, that smell… leather_, Nao absently noted as she curled into the enticing warmth, _just like Natsuki._

Author's notes:

**(1)**- The 'after Shanghai' reference means that the events detailed under this heading, and all headings like it, take place in the present day (2 years after the Carnival)—specifically, after Shizuru's visit to China in the last chapter.

**(2)- **'Shock the Monkey' is a song from the 1980's by a British performing artist named Peter Gabriel.

**(3)-** 'Come Undone' is a song from the 1990's by a British band called Duran Duran. If there appears to be a strange correlation between the name of this group and the name of Natsuki's Child, it is because she named the mechanical wolf after her pet dog, which had been named—I would assume, based on her love of 80's British pop (as stated in her character profile)—after the band.

**(4)- **Sumimasen is a formal Japanese way of saying 'Pardon me' or 'Excuse me'. Although, it can be used differently in other contexts.

**(5)- **Watashi no namae wa _________ is Japanese for 'My name is _________'.

**(6)- **JR Station is actually an abbreviated way of writing Japan Railway Company Station.

**(7)- **Kami is Japanese for 'God', although, it typically refers to deities of the Shinto faith. This is a tad ironic, considering the fact that Nao is supposedly in training to become a Catholic nun.

**(8)-** Onee-sama is a formal Japanese way of saying 'Big sister'; however, anyone even remotely familiar with shoujo-ai and yuri is aware of the romantic connotations as well.

**(9)- **Un is an informal Japanese way of saying 'Yes' or 'Yeah'.

**(10)- **Natsuki's insult here is actually based on a remark that she makes to Nao in the baking exam episode of the 'Mai-Hime' series.

**(11)- **Sou da is Japanese for 'Right'—as in 'Yeah, right'.

**(12)- **Ki o tsukete is a formal Japanese way of saying 'Take care'.

**(13)- **If the dialogue of this scene seems oddly familiar, then it is probably because this particular section is an homage to Nanzaki Iku's 5th ShizNat doujin. I have changed some of the details for my own purposes, but the premise is basically the same. Just to clarify, I realize that the Doropanda Tours series is not canon, and I am not attempting to pass it off as such. I am merely using the idea because I thought it fitting, and it—in itself—pays tribute to the 23rd 'Mai-Hime' omake.

**(14)- **Mayo had to be mentioned at some point. Although, I am not 100% certain of its origin in the fandom (I believe that it is stated in the fan-books, in the manga or both), Natsuki is often portrayed as having a deep-seated love of mayonnaise.

**(15)- **Suki, in addition to being a cutesy shortened version of Natsuki's name, is actually a Japanese term of endearment that typically refers to one's beloved.

**(16)- **Otou-san is Japanese for 'Father'.

**(17)- **Nandemonai is roughly the Japanese equivalent of saying 'It's not a big deal' or 'It's nothing'.

**(18)- **Tsukimori is the downtown area of Fuuka, as depicted in the anime.

**(19)- **For those readers not familiar with the Japanese school system, middle school in Japan usually spans a period of three years. High school is the same. Therefore, Nao is actually 14 in the original series, but a third year in middle school. Since two years have passed in this story, Nao is in her second year of high school.

**(20)- **Juliet is the name that Nao goes by in the 'Mai-Hime' series when she is baiting unsuspecting pedophiles. It is also her character's actual first name in the 'Mai-Otome' series, although she doesn't like to be referred to as such.

**(21)- **Kuso is a Japanese expletive that is often translated as 'Damn' or 'Shit'.

Additional comments:

There is so much that I want to address regarding this chapter, as I anticipate certain questions that may arise from my readers. Firstly, Nao is NOT trying to have sex at the club. Making out, yes. Sex, no. Let's face it, the red-head's mind is really playing tricks on her as far as her sexual orientation is concerned. She is deeply confused, and in denial about that confusion. Anyone who has struggled to accept their sexuality knows that this is can be a very self-destructive combination.

Secondly, I realize that the out-of-order restroom is ridiculously convenient. But hey, who hasn't read a book or seen a movie in which a terribly convenient, yet equally _realistic_, plot device managed to suddenly present itself? I know I have.

Thirdly, if the idea that Nao's assailant would dare to approach her after having been attacked by a giant spider mech seems highly unlikely to you, then consider this: people are often driven mad by occurrences that they can't rightfully explain. In other words, I plead insanity. The man is obviously deranged, and has—in his deluded mind—chalked up his last encounter with Nao to her having some kind of concealed weapon and a partner waiting in the wings. Being that they are in a public place and she appears fairly helpless, he assumes that his actions will not have any dire consequences.

Lastly, I want my readers to know that the delay on this chapter was primarily due to the sex scene. They tend to be difficult to write, and I was attempting to apply the helpful advice that I received from my senpai. A special thanks to Leebot-san, by the way, for taking a look at the ShizNat section and giving me some excellent criticism. Ookini, this chapter is dedicated to you.


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